


Working My Way Back To You

by justanotherunluckysoul



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Bones, Comfortember 2020, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump, only a little bit though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherunluckysoul/pseuds/justanotherunluckysoul
Summary: Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Thankfully Emma is close at hand to help him through it.Heavy on the hurt/comfort, with some whump because I couldn't help myself lol
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 46
Kudos: 129





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, just a short prologue today to set the scene, but I have four proper chapters ready to post and more in the works. I plan to get one posted each week. Enjoy!

Killian can’t be certain how long he’s been here, the blow to his head already making things fuzzy and every ache from his beaten body further clouding his mind as he fights the need to sleep. His legs demand rest, shaking beneath him. But each time he involuntarily gives in to that need, his knees buckling, he’s pulled abruptly back to awareness as the shackle bites into his wrist and his weight is caught by the chain, yanking roughly at his right shoulder. A soft growl escapes his throat as he struggles once again to keep his legs under him, and he tugs uselessly at the restraint, vaguely hoping he can get free this time. He can’t, of course. He’s tried so many times since he woke up here, but there’s no give in the iron shackle around his wrist or the chain that holds him against the stone wall. There’s not even enough length in the chain to sit down.

Killian starts to shiver as the temperature in his prison slowly drops, and he assumes by that observation that night has fallen. Again. His captors had delightedly stripped him of every item of clothing he had, including his brace, leaving him with no protection from the chill now pervading the room. His head aches, pounding out a nauseating beat in time with his heart. Clenching his teeth against the helpless whimper threatening to escape, Killian leans back against the wall, the stone rough against his bare skin but at least it takes some of the strain off his legs. His breath hangs in the cold air.

“I could really use some help here, Swan,” he mutters.

He has no doubt that she’d find him, of course. She always does. But what condition he’ll be in by that time remains to be seen. No, he can’t wait for a rescue, and Killian already has a plan in place to get himself out of this damn prison. The door swings open and he straightens up quickly, his mask of indifference sliding back into place.

“Sleep well, Hook?” asks Killian’s jailkeeper, with a nasty grin.

He knows full well Killian hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, that was the whole point of tying him up like this.

“Aye,” Killian gives a wide smile of his own because he knows how to play this game, “The room was a little breezy, but I’ve slept in far worse quarters.”

He knows he’s only going to make it harder for himself, riling his captor up like this. He can see it in the way the man’s smile drops away and his eyes harden at Killian’s teasing response. But Killian can’t help it; even naked, exhausted, and restrained he can’t. He’s always been too cocky for his own good.

“That’s good because you’ve got a day ahead of you,” the man says, stepping forward to unlock the shackle from Killian’s wrist.

There are two guards just outside that door, Killian knows, so he doesn’t try anything. It wouldn’t do him any good. He must time this right because he’ll only get one chance. The shackle comes loose, and Killian hides the wince as his shoulder protests being moved back to its natural position.

“Another beating, mate?” he asks, in the tone of someone who is bored with all this.

“I would love that, but no. But we’ve got something even better in mind.”

The dark pleasure in the man’s voice gives Killian pause and he wonders just how much he’s going to regret stirring trouble. The keeper leans closer.

“I know you’re planning an escape, Hook. But you won’t do it. Because we’re going to break that spirit of yours and destroy any hope you have of escaping.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?” Killian asks smugly, his eyebrows lifting, ignoring the way his skin is prickling under the man’s warm breaths, “Short of actually killing me, I doubt there’s much you could do to me that hasn’t already been done before.”

He makes a show of remembering, “Oh no, wait, I actually _have_ been killed before, and that didn’t stop me either.”

He grins but he’s acutely aware of how naked he is, how close the jailkeeper is, and how quickly his heart is beating in trepidation of what exactly his captors plan to do with him.

“Oh, don’t worry, Captain. You won’t have to wait long to find out. Come on.”

The man grabs Killian’s upper arm roughly and all but drags him from the cell.


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt “rescue,” in which Emma finally finds Killian again and I try to write a way around that pesky magical healing thing lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And away we go! Note the change in rating! This story has taken a slightly different direction than I originally intended.  
> Some warnings specific for this chapter: descriptions of blood and injury, implied/referenced rape/non-con
> 
> Also, this is unbeta-d so forgive my errors.

It had been two weeks. Two whole terrifying weeks since Killian had been taken and Emma doesn’t think she’s taken a full breath since the sickening realization that he was gone. It takes far too long to find him and when she finally lays eyes on him again in that filthy cellar, for a terrifying moment she thinks it's too late. The men responsible, nameless enemies from Killian’s pirating days, had laughed as they told her she would be too late and right then, she believed it. Killian’s curled on his side with his back to them, completely motionless on the floor, naked except for his necklace, and _oh God_ , there's so much blood.

“Let me do it,” David says, gently pushing her shaking hands aside.

Her father makes quick work of the lock and Emma wrenches the door open as soon as the lock releases, but she realizes she's almost afraid to do anything further. What if Killian really is...? But now she's closer, she can hear the soft rasping of his breath, shallow and pained through parted lips, and her heart soars.

“Killian?”

He doesn't respond, not to her voice or to her cautious hand against his cheek. There’s blood mixing with the saliva dribbling from his slack mouth, bright bruising across his cheekbones and jaw which she’s careful to avoid as she attempts to wake him. There is something seriously wrong with his hand, Emma realizes with a detached sort of horror. It’s wrapped with what appears to be a handkerchief, which is soaked with blood and not hiding the way his fingers are held at unnatural angles. The myriad of other injuries across his bare skin leaves nothing of his torture to Emma's imagination. Besides his gruesome hand injury, the skin at his temple has split from a blow and there’s more blood caked down the side of his face from it. There are deep cuts scattered across his ribcage, most of them scabbed over now, blood dried in crusty rivulets, and there’s barely a spot on him that isn’t bruised. And the marks on Killian’s hip looks distinctly like fingers, from someone holding him tight as they- Emma feels sick. She doesn’t want to leave him like this a moment longer and she quickly draws on her magic to heal him. She feels it flowing warm and soothing through her fingers towards Killian and slowly, his wounds neatly knit back together, the blood and bruising fading from view. His breaths come easier. All healed, except his hand. Emma focuses harder on that injury, but there’s no result. She chokes on a helpless sob at the realization.

“Emma?”

“It’s not working,” she whispers, “I can’t… I can’t heal his hand.”

“We need to move,” David says, “You can try again when we get out of here.”

Thank God for David’s level head. Emma takes a deep breath and pushes her emotion down. There’ll be time for a breakdown later, when Killian is safe. Part of her still wishes he would wake, but the more logical side says it’s better if he doesn’t, because moving him is probably going to hurt. But first- Emma magics the blanket from David’s truck waiting outside, and between both of them, they manage to get Killian upright and wrapped in the blanket to protect his privacy, and Emma carefully holds onto his wrist, protecting his hand from being bumped or jostled. A quiet moan alerts them to Killian’s growing wakefulness at all the movement, but he makes no attempt to hold himself up.

“It's alright, Killian,” David says gently as he takes Killian's weight, “We've got you.”

Killian mutters something, but it's too quiet and slurred against David’s shirtfront to make out.

They drag Killian out of the cellar and into the sunlight, where Snow is waiting with the truck. They hadn’t anticipated actually finding Killian this time, after so many futile searches, and Snow lets out a startled gasp at the sight of him.

“Is he-”

“He’s alive,” David interrupts her question.

“I need to get him to the hospital,” Emma says, a little frantically, “His hand, I can’t… he’s hurt.”

 _Understatement of the century,_ she thinks as they lie Killian down on the grass, still wrapped in the blanket. Emma’s magic still refuses to heal his hand, but at least it seems the bleeding has slowed now. Taking a moment to gather her strength before she teleports them, Emma strokes Killian’s cheek gently. He’s lost weight during his capture; his cheekbones are more prominent, dark circles under his eyes. Killian groans, his head rolling away from her touch, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles towards consciousness.

“Ssshh, it's okay,” Emma says softly, “You're safe now.”

He only groans again and tries to pull his entire body away from her, wincing at his own movement.

“Hey, it's just me. Lie still, Killian.”

He stops moving and his eyes flicker back and forth over her face, his eyelids half-mast, before his gaze settles somewhere over her shoulder.

“Ssstop...” he slurs, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Killian-”

His eyes get a little more intense, eyebrows pulled down as his jaw clenches, muscle ticking under the skin.

“You can't break me,” he mutters, “Just bloody finish this.”

Before Emma can say anything else, Killian's eyes roll back, and he loses his tenuous grip on reality. Such as it was. He hadn’t seemed to know where he was, or recognize her at all and Emma's heart sinks, her throat closing up with emotion. David reaches across to take her hand in his.

“He'll be alright, Emma,” he says firmly.

Emma nods, swallowing hard. She hopes he's right.

_They’re holding him down, so many hands and he hurts but he’s too far gone to put up any sort of fight anymore. It’s all he can do to keep breathing. He regrets being so cavalier with the jailkeeper earlier, his quips and smirks leading to a brutal beating that has definitely broken some ribs, and they bloody_ used _him, rough and hateful. Though not his first time, he sincerely hopes it’ll be the last. And then a new agony lances through his right hand, fire blazing up his arm and maybe he screams, though it’s a miracle if he has enough breath in his lungs to do so. The agony goes on and on. Eventually he gathers enough strength to bring his gaze to the centre of his pain. His hand is a mess, bloodied and shattered bones exposed through his broken skin._

_“See how well you can escape now, pirate.”_

_Killian feels hot, then cold, and sweat breaks out on his skin as his stomach does a nauseating flip, and his last thought before he succumbs to the merciful hold of unconsciousness is how inconsolable Emma will be when she finds his body._ I’m so sorry, Swan. I tried.

Emma gathers her strength, holds tightly onto Killian, and transports them straight into the hospital foyer, much to the shock of everyone there. She supposes they must make quite a sight, just appearing like that, sitting on the floor with Killian, naked save for the blanket still tucked around him, unconscious in her arms. But she doesn’t give their onlookers a moment to recover before she’s yelling at them to help. Thankfully from there everything happens quickly. Someone brings a gurney over and they lift Killian onto it, rushing him into the nearest empty room. Machines are connected, tubes and wires all over Killian’s limp body. An IV runs fluids and pain relief into his veins, and they have to give it the medicine some time to kick in before examining his hand. Emma remains stubbornly at Killian’s side throughout, her hands refusing to stop touching him for even a second, while she explains haltingly to the doctor what’s happened to her pirate. Eventually, a nurse carefully unwinds the handkerchief from Killian’s hand and Emma wills him to stay unconscious for the moment. But of course, they can’t be that fortunate and Killian fights his way back to awareness as his wound is exposed to the open air. But it’s a different version of Killian this time. Instead of fighting against them, all the aggression seems replaced with a heartbreaking fear.

“Have mercy,” he murmurs, his eyes barely open, his breaths quickening.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Emma says softly.

She wishes she could take Killian in her arms, shield him from everything, take away his pain. She can’t do any of that, of course, but she curls her hand around his shoulder and the other rests on his left forearm. A nurse is pinning Killian’s other arm down while the doctor attempts to examine his hand, and Killian struggles weakly, his head turning away from the source of his torment.

“Please…” he whimpers, “ _Gods_ , please have mercy.”

She’s never heard him sound so terrified, so utterly broken, and it scares her. Killian has a remarkably high pain tolerance so for him to be reduced to pleading like this, he must be in absolute agony. _Well, what did you expect?_ Emma berates herself, _they broke like, all his fingers, of course he’s in agony._ Although technically he shouldn’t _still_ be feeling all of it. The doctor has halted his examination.

“We’re going to have to sedate him,” he says after a moment, “I hoped he’d remain unconscious for this, with the morphine on board, but it seems we’re not that lucky.”

A tremor wracks Killian’s body as he groans and Emma tightens her hold on him.

“You’re safe, Killian,” she says, “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

His eyes are glazed, and they seem to struggle to find hers. The raw terror in them scares Emma.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sss… sorry, Emma,” Killian whispers before he breaks off with a choked cry, his eyes squeezed shut again, “Oh, _bloody_ hell, Gods, no more, _please_ -”

His frantic, disjointed words shift into a language Emma doesn’t recognize. He trembles, gasping raggedly as the pain seems to overwhelm him even though nobody is touching his hand anymore. It’s terrifying Emma to see her pirate’s usual stoicism so completely destroyed by pain and fear. Thankfully, with the sedative in his system, Killian eventually begins to relax, his rapid breaths steadying as the medicine takes effect. For a long time he’s quiet, his eyes closed as they examine him, and she thinks he’s passed out until he speaks again.

“Swan,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes still shut, “Is this… are you real?”

“Yes, Killian,” she says, and the tears she’s been trying to keep at bay finally break free, “Yes, I’m real. It’s alright. You’re safe now, just rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

He breathes out the word on a sigh, and his body goes fully limp as he releases his hold on awareness.

Killian requires an X-ray, and then surgery for his broken fingers and Emma finds herself sitting in the waiting room trying not to cry again. David has reluctantly returned to the sheriff station to deal with Killian’s kidnappers. His _torturers,_ Emma thinks, grinding her teeth together. Snow has her arm around Emma’s shoulders, and Henry’s holding Emma’s hand on the other side, his head against her shoulder, her family giving a quiet show of support as they anxiously await news. Emma tries to focus on those comforting sensations, and not think too much the broken shell of Killian lying on a gurney through those double doors she isn’t allowed through. She’d honestly thought she’d lost him this time. Two weeks searching fruitlessly for him had felt like torture – and meanwhile, he was literally _being_ tortured, although she hadn’t known it at the time. _God._ She’s going to make those people pay for what they did.

_He feels ill. Cold. Heavy._

“Captain, are you with us?”

_It’s too bright. It’s too loud._

“Can you hear me?”

 _Yes. But there’s too much. Voices. Foreign sensations in his nostril, his throat, his-_ Oh gods, what is _that?_

“Lie still, honey, you’re okay.”

_Hands pressing him down. So many hands._

“Do you know where you are?”

_Where’s Emma? She’d been there. Here. Holding him, saying he was safe. He’d thought she was real this time._

“You can see Emma soon. I just need you to wake up a bit more, okay?”

_Bloody hell. Emma was never here; he’s been hallucinating again. He’s still a prisoner and now they’ve come back to torture him some more. He doesn’t know how much more he can take._

“Wait, don’t-”

It feels like a lifetime before the doctor returns.

“He’s stable,” he says, and thank God he led with that, because Emma’s strung too tight to handle any further suspense right now, “His hand was a bit of a mess, honestly. It appears the breaks in his fingers happened perhaps a week ago, and there was more damage that had clearly occurred more recently. But we’ve cleaned it up and set the bones, so all going well it should heal without further complications.”

That is a relief. Emma can’t imagine how Killian would feel if the doctor hadn’t managed to save his hand. And while Emma’s magic had done its job healing his other wounds, Killian was still dehydrated, malnourished, and had a mild concussion.

“He was a bit combative coming out of the anesthetic. That’s not uncommon, but in his condition, he really needs to be kept calm. Miss Swan, he was asking for you the moment he started to wake, and I think it’ll do you both good if you could stay with him and keep him relaxed. More than anything right now he needs to rest.”

 _‘If you could stay with him.’_ As if Emma would want to be anywhere else.

_**To be continued** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you're thinking. :) Sorry that this chapter was a bit light of the promised comfort, mainly because poor Killian was unconscious for most of it, but I assure you the following chapters do contain plenty of well-deserved comforts for him! (mostly, because sorry I enjoy whumping this poor pirate too much haha)


	3. First Day/Night + Nightmare + Cuddling + Afraid To Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts “first day/night,” “nightmare,” “cuddling,” and “afraid to sleep.” Killian finally gets some of the comfort he deserves, and I brush off Emma’s failed healing with a hopefully plausible excuse lol
> 
> No special warnings for this chapter.

Snow takes Henry back home while Emma remains at her pirate’s side through the night. Killian is wearing his pyjamas that Snow had brought from home, looking small and pale in the hospital bed, blanket pulled up to his chest. His scruff has nearly become a full beard and Emma is struck with a sudden and rather ridiculous desperation to trim it back to its usual length. She’ll have to ask her parents to bring some more things when they visit in the morning. As night falls, Killian wakes only briefly, mutters _Swan_ and promptly passes out again. And Emma dims the lights and settles in the cot across the room, sleep pulling at her until finally she too succumbs. Just to wake sometime later to Killian shifting restlessly and mumbling through a nightmare. She immediately goes to his side.

“Easy, Killian,” she says softly, not wanting to wake him fully, only to draw him out of his dream, “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

She’s not sure where to touch without startling him, remembering how disoriented he had seemed earlier, and how many injuries he’d suffered before his rescue. Emma settles for running her fingers through his greasy hair.

“Sshh, it’s alright. You’re safe, Killian, just relax.”

It seems to work. Killian’s breathing evens out and his agitated movement calms. But only for a little while, before he inhales sharply, and his eyes fly open and he lurches upright with a strangled yell. Emma grapples with him as he attempts to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The monitors start up a frantic alarm.

“Killian, stop. You’re alright. Don’t get up.”

“No…” his voice is almost a whimper, the sound pulled from the back of his throat as he tries to push her away.

The action must hurt him, trying to use his wounded hand like that, and he groans, curling in on himself and tilting towards Emma. He doesn’t seem to have any fight left in him, so Emma changes her hold so it’s less restraining and more steadying.

“You were dreaming,” she tells him.

“Dreaming.”

He sounds dazed, his rapid breaths a painful-sounding rasp. His head bobs, like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold up. He tips further into her embrace. There’s a sound in the doorway and Emma looks over her shoulder to see a nurse has come to check on them. Emma shakes her head - she’s got this. She turns her focus back to Killian.

“Lie down, alright?”

“I d-don’t… Emma?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

He draws away from her so he can look into her face, and he’s trembling as his glassy eyes take in her features. He gasps softly.

“Emma. Emma. Emma,” he whispers over and over again, and he’s looking at her with a sort of awe and reverence, like she’s a literal angel come to save his soul.

He raises his bandaged, splinted hand to her cheek, just barely making contact with her skin, careful not to hurt himself. Emma swallows the lump in her throat, both her own hands on his face, caressing and calming. She can’t seem to stop touching him. Killian doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“I’m right here, Killian, it’s okay. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You just need to sleep, okay?”

But that raises some more strength out of him and he renews his efforts to get away, finally succeeding in getting his legs to hang off the bed, but he’s content to stop there. Emma’s relieved – she didn’t want to have to really wrangle him down, if he’d attempted to leave.

“No. No sleep. Not… I can’t-”

Killian cuts himself off, makes a sound like a growl and squeezes his eyes closed, taking several deep breaths in an apparent attempt to calm himself. When he opens his eyes and speaks again his voice is closer to its usual timbre.

“I just need a moment, love. I’m alright, I just… I don’t want to go back to sleep just yet.”

“Okay.”

She sits next to him and Killian leans heavily against her. His bandaged hand trembles in his lap, his head on her shoulder, seemingly craving her closeness. Emma wraps her arms gently around him in response, and Killian flinches slightly before sighing deeply, the tension draining out of him. The nurse quietly checks the monitors and nods reassuringly at Emma before leaving them.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal it,” Emma murmurs, “I’ve tried but my magic isn’t working.”

“It’s… it’s alright, Emma. You’ve done… enough. I can handle this.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t _have_ to.”

“They used a bloody enchanted… hammer to do this, that may be why…”

He pauses to take another breath, the simple acts of speaking and breathing apparently too much to do at once. Emma presses a kiss against his head, her stomach lurching at the image his words have brought to mind. And good God, does he need a real shower to wash the grease out of his hair. Apparently, her magic had missed that part.

“We can talk in the morning, okay? Just rest for now.”

She doesn’t want to think about Killian’s hand being beaten with a hammer. Enchanted or otherwise. She holds him close and he’s almost burrowing into her, his own embrace around her a bit awkward as he’s being careful not to hurt his hand but it feels so nice like this, their breathing settling into sync. Emma would be fine with staying this way forever, with Killian in her arms, breathing, alive, _real._ But then Killian slowly sits upright, the look on his face saying he’s also hesitant to move from this comforting interlude.

“Water?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.

Once Killian’s had a drink ( _small sips,_ Emma cautions), they end up spooning together in the narrow bed. Emma remains pressed tightly against Killian’s back, her arm wrapped around his torso, listening as his breathing deepens into sleep, despite Killian’s previous insistence that he didn’t want to.

* * *

Emma wakes to sunlight streaming through the window, which she’d forgotten to draw the blinds on last night. Killian’s still asleep, and she carefully slides off the bed and stretches her stiff muscles. Killian doesn’t even stir. He looks peaceful, the deep lines of pain and fear that had been on his face yesterday now smoothed out in sleep. She can feel her own tension easing at the sight of him, safe and whole. More or less. They can work through whatever comes next. But as much as Emma would like to stand there and watch Killian sleep, nature calls. And she also needs caffeine if she wants to get through the day.

A few minutes later and Emma’s feeling a bit more awake after washing her face and with the scent of coffee wafting from the cup in her hand. Her phone rings as she’s heading back to Killian’s room. It’s Snow.

“How’s Killian?” she asks without preamble.

“Still sleeping,” Emma says, “He had a rough night. But the doctor said he should be okay; he just needs to rest and heal.”

“Mentally as much as physically, I imagine.”

“Yeah.”

_Killian’s thoughts are sluggish, and his movement is slow and clumsy. At least they have finally released his wrist from that damned shackle so he could lie down. Perhaps now he can escape? His eyes feel gritty when he opens them and bloody hell, he can’t see straight. He can’t_ think. _His throat feels scraped raw from thirst._ _Killian forces himself to sit up, wraps his arm around his ribcage as pain steals the breath from his lungs. The pain is a living thing, curling around him, muddling his thoughts, searing through his fingers- Oh gods, his_ fingers _. The clean, white bandage around his extremity hides the damage he knows they’d dealt it. His only hand now crippled. He has to get out. But when he forces his focus outward, they’re already here, trying to grab him. Panic surges through him, giving him strength. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough._

Emma takes another sip of her coffee. It’s a far cry from the deliciousness that is Granny’s coffees, but it’s much-needed caffeine so she’ll have to make do.

“We’ll come visit in about an hour, okay?” Snow says, “We’ll bring you something to eat too.”

“Okay. See you then.”

Emma hangs up and slips the phone back into her pocket. Now that she thinks about food, she realizes how hungry she really is, and that she can’t remember the last time she ate a full meal. With a small smile on her face at the prospect of something decent to eat, she makes her way to Killian’s room. But what greets her when she steps through the doorway shatters her good mood to pieces.

“What’s going on?” Emma asks, watching in shock as the nurses try to subdue a furious Killian.

She’d only stepped out for a few minutes and Killian had been sleeping deeply at the time. Now he’s cursing vehemently, thrashing against the hold of three people – two nurses and what appears to be a burly security guard. Of course, they’re all too busy trying to keep Killian on the bed right now to answer her.

“It’s alright, Captain, just relax,” the guard is saying in a gentle but firm tone.

“Let me go,” Killian demands, his voice low and dangerous, making a quick movement with his broken hand, but luckily someone grabs his arm before he can make contact with anyone, “Let me _bloody go!”_

“Where’s that sedative?”

“Don’t you bloody dare, you damned-”

Whatever Killian was going to say is lost in an animalistic growl of rage as he makes one last attempt to break free. He fails, of course.

“Emma!” Killian’s desperate, helpless shout as he realizes they have him outmatched has Emma rushing forward and shoving her way to his side.

“I’m here.”

His eyes are wide and wild, lips pulled back in a snarl as he wheezes through his teeth, his hair sticking up all over his head, and he still struggles vainly against the hands holding him as he makes eye contact with Emma.

“Emma,” he gasps, “Th-they’re not- I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

She glares at the nurses until they release Killian, and she takes over trying to coax him horizontal. He resists only for a moment before giving in to her. His chest heaves, skin slick with sweat. He’s torn out his IV.

“Slow your breathing,” Emma says, her voice gentle and soothing despite the worry squeezing her heart at the sight of Killian’s distress, “I’m here, you’re okay. Just breathe nice and slowly for me, alright?”

“He woke up and just started freaking out,” the younger nurse says, looking sympathetically at Killian as her colleague prepares to insert another IV, “He didn’t seem coherent. Do you think…” she looks at the other nurse for advice, “I can give him that sedative if you think he still needs it.”

Killian shakes his head immediately, and he looks like he’s going to sit up again, the guard drawing closer just in case. Emma’s hand splays against Killian’s chest to stop him.

“No,” Killian says quickly, a bit of panic edging his words, “I-i’m coherent. Emma, please. I don’t want _that_.”

Emma wonders if he even understands what a sedative is. She combs her fingers through his hair, hoping it will bring him some comfort like it did last night. It draws his frantically darting gaze back to her, and also makes his hair stick up even worse.

“Are you sure? It’ll help calm you down.”

“I can be calm. I’ll be calm, Emma.”

A quick glance at the screen beside the bed says otherwise. His heartrate is still alarmingly fast and he’s shaking and breathless, but she doesn’t want to take away his autonomy.

“Okay.”

To his credit, Killian _does_ calm himself down, and by the time the nurses and the guard leave his breathing is slow and even, just a little hitching every now and then, the trembling now confined to his right arm. Emma sits down in the chair at his bedside again and wishes she could actually hold his hand. She has to settle for resting her hand on his forearm instead, her thumb making a gentle rubbing motion, trying to soothe his tremors. She feels like her attempts are useless. But then she notices that Killian is staring at her with clear appreciation on his tired face, and maybe she’s not _that_ useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my lovely readers, for leaving kudos and comments! Knowing you are enjoying this story brings a smile to my face, and motivation to my fingers for typing up further chapters.


	4. Confession + Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter today, for the prompts “confession,” and “crying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did NOT want to be written and I'm still not 100% happy with how it turned out lol
> 
> But some of my favourite parts are coming up soon, and I am excited to share those with you. So just bear with me for this one!

Once he’s caught his breath and had some more water, Killian insists on using the bathroom and doesn’t seem to have thought it through very well, judging by how long it takes him to figure out he needs Emma’s assistance to do so. But in typical Killian fashion he quickly switches from awkward to inappropriately suggestive, and his dirty innuendoes have Emma blushing. How he can _still_ get to her like that, she doesn’t know. But it’s good to see a bit of his normal swagger returning, although it’s still subdued. She even cleans his teeth for him and cracks jokes about how much more enjoyable he is with his mouth otherwise occupied. She knows full well that she’s set up the perfect opening for another innuendo but the fact that his mouth is _otherwise occupied_ means he can do nothing more than wiggle his eyebrows and grin around the toothbrush. She laughs, and he laughs, and he almost misses the sink when he quickly spits out the minty foam, because he’s laughing too hard. Emma’s heart feels light and full.

“I must apologize for earlier, love,” Killian says once he’s sitting on the bed again.

He suddenly won’t meet her eyes and Emma misses the jovial Killian immediately. He raises his hand slightly in an aborted motion, and then he frowns at it in obvious annoyance. She wonders what he was wanting to do – maybe his nervous habit of scratching behind his ear. And Emma feels intensely sad for him, not being able to do even the simplest things for himself until his one hand heals.

“I woke from another dream to see a stranger leaning over me,” Killian explains, “I let fear get the better of me and I do believe my reaction frightened you, and those poor nurses, quite badly.” He cringes a little at the memory. “Not to mention my vile language.”

Emma almost laughs, still feeling slightly giddy from their previous antics, but she manages to contain it to a smile instead.

“I’m sure they’ve heard far worse than ‘bloody,’” she says.

Killian huffs out a soft breath as he smiles too, and his eyes meet hers for a second before looking down at his hand again.

“I’m afraid I was a bit more vulgar than that before you returned.”

 _Oh, that makes more sense._ She’s heard some of Killian’s more explicit language before, when he’s gotten really worked up about something and let slip some rather creative curses under his breath. He always apologizes if he realizes Emma’s overheard him, not that she particularly minds it. There’s something almost _hot_ about Killian’s muttered profanity. She quickly shakes herself from that train of thought – now isn’t really the time.

“Well, I’m sure they won’t hold it against you,” she says, “After what you’ve been through, I think you’re entitled to a bit of vulgarity every now and then.”

The smile drops from his face as Killian seems to think on that for a moment before he nods slowly.

“All the same, if you see them again, could you pass on my apologies?”

“Of course.”

* * *

David and Snow visit as promised, bringing some items from home as requested, along with a paper bag containing a home-cooked meal for Emma and a perfect cup of coffee. Killian rouses himself from his exhausted doze to give them a weak attempt of his usual smile.

“Feeling better?”

“Aye.” At Snow’s side eye he amends – “Getting there. You know, some _real_ food wouldn’t hurt.”

A nurse had brought Killian his breakfast (which, according to Killian, couldn’t really be labelled as _breakfast_ ) shortly after the bathroom excursion and Killian had made no attempt to hide the fact that’s he wasn’t a fan of the hospital diet. It didn’t help his mood to have Emma spoon feeding him either.

“Sorry, mate, Emma said you’re on a bland diet for now,” David says, and Killian pouts _adorably._

“’Bland’ is an understatement,” he mutters.

“I’ll talk to the doctor later and see about getting you something a bit more appetizing, alright?” Emma says with a smile.

With what little he’d eaten during his imprisonment, Killian’s stomach likely wouldn’t be able to handle much more than the hospital’s provided food. It didn’t stop him from complaining about it though. Emma feels guilty eating her comparatively delicious meal in front of Killian, but he assures her it’s fine. Snow and David don’t stay long, obviously noticing that Killian’s still tired, and moments after they leave, he’s asleep again.

* * *

Around midday, the doctor stops by to check on Killian. Killian endures the pokes and prods with barely a wince and plenty of banter, until the doctor gets to his hand. As soon as he starts to unwrap the bandage Emma can feel the change come over Killian, the stoic bravado giving way to that same fear as the day he’d been rescued. Sitting at his left side, Emma tries to meet Killian’s eyes but he’s staring intensely straight ahead, muscle rippling across his jawline as he breathes short and sharp through his nose.

“This won’t hurt, Captain,” the doctor assures him, “I’m just going to look, okay?”

“Okay,” Killian repeats tightly.

Emma curls her hand firmly around his left forearm. She’s not sure what to say, not sure if anything she says will even help. Her thumb rubs a gentle pattern over his skin. She doesn’t want to look at Killian’s broken hand any more than he seems to. But it’s not as bad as she’d feared. The swelling had decreased from the last time she saw it (thank God that his captors had removed his rings at some point, so they hadn’t caused more damage as Killian’s fingers swelled up), the stitches small and neat, tape binding his fingers together to hold them in place with a splint. Only his thumb had avoided injury. Killian swallows, his head pressing hard against the pillow. Emma tries again to make eye contact and fails.

“Everything looks good so far,” the doctor says, “I don’t think you need the bandage anymore.”

Killian’s breath catches. His body turns towards Emma slightly, his arm tugging against the doctor’s hold. The doctor releases his hand, and Killian tucks it protectively near his chest.

“The most important thing right now is rest,” the doctor advises.

“When can I get out of here?” Killian asks.

His casual tone belies the tension that’s radiating from his body.

“I’d like you to stay for at least a week, just to make sure the antibiotics do their job properly, and to give your body a little more nourishment. You’re healing well but you’ve been through a lot. It’s going to take some time to get your strength back.”

“Surely you don’t think you can keep me in this bed for a week.” Killian’s voice carries a hard edge of steel now.

Dangerous, and desperate. Emma thinks of a wounded animal caught in a trap. She shifts her hand to Killian’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

“No, of course not,” the doctor says, “You’re free to go for a walk whenever you feel up to it. There’s a nice garden outside, and some fresh air and sunshine will do you good.”

He glances at Emma.

“Just don’t let him push himself too hard.”

Killian’s almost vibrating.

“I can make my own decisions,” he says, his voice too loud in the small room, “And I don’t need to bloody stay here either, I’m not-”

Emma hears his teeth click as he bites down on whatever he was going to say.

“No, you’re not,” the doctor says, as if he knows what Killian was going to say (Emma can make a pretty good guess as well – _an_ _invalid. Crippled. Broken._ ), “but you _have_ been through a traumatic event and you’ve got a pretty nasty injury here. You need time to heal and if you try to do too much, too soon it’s just going to end up making things worse for you in the long run. Do you understand that?”

Killian doesn’t answer, just keeps clenching his jaw and glaring at the doorway. Emma smiles at the doctor in what she hopes is a reassuring way. She gets the feeling it’s more like a grimace though.

“He’ll be okay,” she says, “I’ll look after him.”

The doctor doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway and turns to leave.

“My hand,” Killian says suddenly and his voice cracks on the second word, his demeanor no longer angry, “Will I ever… get full use of it again?”

“Oh, yes, I believe so. Sorry, I thought you knew. You’ll need physical therapy but yes, it should heal almost as good as before.”

“ _Almost_ as good?”

“Captain, I’m sure don’t need to remind you that there was a _lot_ of damage done. Modern medicine is a marvelous thing but… we can only do so much.”

Emma can feel Killian starting to tremble. Thankfully, the doctor decides to give them some privacy now, because it seems the pirate is reaching the end of what he can endure.

“Alright, I’ll check in on you guys later, okay?”

The moment the door closes behind the doctor Killian makes a sound, a soft noise of suffering Emma can’t put a name to.

“Killian?” Emma says worriedly, “Are you okay?”

Killian barks out a mirthless laugh and raises his hand like he wants to scrub his gathering tears away, but of course he can’t, and he looks so _hurt_ by that realization.

“No, I’m not bloody okay,” he says angrily, “They destroyed my damn hand. My _only_ hand, Swan. They’ve crippled me.” He lets out a shaky breath. “Gods, they _broke_ me _._ ”

And there it is. Emma’s been almost expecting him to break down at some point, but now that it’s happening it shocks her all the same. She reaches for him and he folds into her arms, crying silently, tears quickly soaking into her shirt. There’s only so much a person can take and God, poor Killian’s been through it all. Emma feels her own tears burning hot as they slip from her closed eyes.

“They didn’t break you, Killian,” she says, emotion choking her, “Your hand is going to be okay. _You’re_ going to be okay.”

He has his arms around her, a little awkwardly because he’s trying not to bump his hand on anything, his face pressed into her shoulder. Her hand cradles the back of his head, holding him close.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he says, his voice cracking, “I’m so sorry, I tried…”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. Just let it out, Killian, I’ve got you.”

Killian mumbles something else but Emma can’t make it out. She just keeps murmuring assurances through her own tears and holding Killian until he’s able to calm down again. He’s clearly exhausted from his outburst and the subsequent breakdown, because within a few minutes of lying down again he’s drifted into a deep, surprisingly peaceful sleep.

**To be continued...**


	5. PTSD + Emotional Support Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian POV for the prompts “PTSD” and “Emotional Support Pet.” (because Emma's headspace is hard to get into for me lol) Killian is physically healed enough to leave the hospital, but his mental wounds remain…

Killian wakes at dawn, tugged from the comfort of sleep by the throbbing in his fingers, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He’s so damn tired of waking up in misery. The doctor had decreased his medication, the one that dulled both the sharp edges of his pain and of his thoughts, leaving him clear minded at last, but hurting more than he’d ever let on. Emma’s still in the chair next to his bed, bent forward with her head resting on her forearms on the mattress, snoring softly. She’s _supposed_ to have slept in the other bed, but after she’d woken Killian from his twisted dreams for the third time that night, she must have been too exhausted to move again. Killian closes his eyes, shame and frustration washing over him.

It’s been eight days since her and David dragged him out of that accursed cellar. The first few days, he mostly just slept, and wrestled with his nightmares, waking each morning feeling no better for the sleep he’d had. People – his _friends_ – wanted to visit him but he declined them all after that first visit from Snow and David. Killian didn’t want anyone else to see him in this state, weakened and exhausted and flinching at every new sound, every sudden movement. His body felt like the string of a bow, constantly pulled tight, and the walks in the hospital garden didn’t help as there were always other people out there. He needed some quiet, and there was never a moment of that in this place. He needed some peace. Some release from this tension. Most of all, he just needed people to stop looking at him. And the stitches on his hand began to itch terribly as the wounds healed, further adding to his frustration. The doctor and the nurses bore the brunt of Killian’s dark mood, and he felt rotten for it, but he couldn’t stop himself lashing out. It was all he could do to remain civil with Emma.

But slowly, his anger had shifted into something like resignation – a hollow, empty feeling in his chest as he came to terms with what’s been done to him. Emma has hardly left his side since his rescue, and Killian feels so guilty that she must help him with _everything_ now. His beautiful, perfect Swan. He’d tried his best to dispel the awkwardness, but there’s really nothing that can take away how humiliating using the bathroom is without a functional hand. Emma took it all in her stride, of course. She’d shaved his beard down the way he liked, fed him, dressed him, bathed him… And having Emma’s assistance with showering, now _that_ was a bit of fun. She placed some manner of waterproof bag over his hand so the stitches would stay dry, tying it closed around his wrist to keep out the spray, and laughed when Killian commented on how brilliant the design of this ‘waterproof hand bag’ was. Because apparently, a _hand bag_ was something else entirely, and this thing on his hand had actually been designed for a completely different use. But it worked well – as did Emma’s hands bathing him, and Killian smirks and his tongue darts out to wet his lips at that extremely _pleasing_ memory, Emma’s stifled giggle and _shut up, Killian, someone’s going to hear you._ He definitely wants to experience that again in the privacy of their own home and this time he’d grab Emma and… The image in his mind falters because he still has the splints bracing his fingers, and the doctor says he can’t remove that for a while yet. Well, no matter, he’ll use his mouth then. And they could make as much noise as they wanted. Emma would-

“Killian, what are you thinking about?”

Emma’s looking at him with a sleepy, confused expression. He wonders how long she’s been awake.

“Oh, nothing, just… thinking how _satisfying_ showering in our own home will feel tonight.”

And he lets his eyes blaze heatedly into hers as he slowly swipes his tongue across his lips, adding a little bounce of his eyebrows just to really make his meaning clear. It gets the reaction he’d hoped. Emma’s mouth drops open slightly and her face flushes, her mind obviously conjuring up a _truly_ wonderful image of them in said shower.

“ _Killian,”_ she squeaks, glancing at the closed door in case someone has overheard him.

There’s nobody there, of course, and Killian gives her a wicked grin. She’s always been so much fun to tease.

* * *

Killian’s briefly agreeable mood evaporates when the doctor comes in after breakfast, for his final examination to ensure Killian is well enough to leave. The daily exams have been grueling, the doctor’s touch triggering memories he’d rather not have, and it’s only Emma’s steadying presence at his side that keeps him complying with them. Now as the doctor presses his stethoscope against Killian’s ribs he has to resist the urge to fight. Or to run. He’s not sure which compulsion is going to win out in the end.

“Take a deep breath for me,” the doctor instructs.

Killian does, wincing slightly at the consequential jabs of pain. Emma had done a marvelous job healing him, but it seemed that by the time she’d focused on his broken ribs, either her magic or just her concentration had begun to waver, leaving him with an uncomfortable twinge when he drew too large a breath. It didn’t bother him enough to ask her to heal it further.

“How does that feel?” the doctor asks, “Still some pain there, hmm?”

“Only a little.”

He just wants this over with. He wants to be at home in his own bed with Emma tucked into his side. He wants to stand on the Jolly Roger’s deck and breathe in the ocean air with his arm around Emma. Honestly, he’ll be happy to do anything, as long as it’s not in the hospital and it involves him touching Emma in some way. Then the doctor moves his attention to Killian’s hand and the urge to flee ramps up tenfold. Emma’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, squeezing a bit harder than what is necessary, though he appreciates the fortitude she’s relaying to him through the touch because he seems to be running on empty these days.

“You’re healing well,” the doctor says at the end of his assessment, “I think we can organize a jail break today, what do you think? Home for Christmas.”

Killian’s too busy trying to pull air into his strangely uncooperative lungs and calm his racing heart, like always after his exams. And now the doctor is giving him a look that makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. He doesn’t like it at all. He glares back, drawing on that dark sort of intensity that makes lesser men cower before him. The doctor _is_ a lesser man, it seems, because even in Killian’s current state, it works. The doctor immediately breaks eye contact and picks some spot on the far wall to look at instead, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“That would be great,” says Emma on Killian’s behalf, seemingly unaware of the silent exchange between the pirate and the doctor.

“Do you mind if I talk to you alone for a moment, Miss Swan?”

Killian feels a surge of dread at the doctor’s question, at the thought of being left alone. But when Emma meets his eyes in silent query, he nods his assent. He’ll be fine, he doesn’t need her to metaphorically hold his hand. He’s fine _._ Emma and the doctor leave the room and Killian is _fine._ And he doesn’t know why he’s trembling. He closes his eyes, breathes deep enough that his cracked ribs pinch at him again, calls up a soothing mental image of a full moon over the open sea. He knows how to deal with fear, he’s just not entirely sure why he’s feeling so much of it right now. It’s a small comfort that Snow White had brought him his brace and hook, left it with Emma in the hall outside because Killian adamantly refused to accept her visit. It makes him feel a bit more like himself, although the doctor wouldn’t allow Killian to actually wear the hook on it and made Emma take it home. “ _It is a weapon, Captain, and with your mental state being what it is, it wouldn’t be safe for the staff.”_ Killian had felt a strong impulse to punch the man for that comment but the fact the splints stopped his fingers from curling into the necessary fist had quickly crushed that urge. The return of his hook is yet another thing he’ll appreciate about leaving this damn hospital. That is, if the doctor even lets him leave today. _Calm yourself, mate, or he certainly won’t._ Between one careful breath and the next, Emma is back at his side, looking down at him with far too much concern.

“Hey, Killian. You okay?”

Her hand comes back to his shoulder, gentle and light this time, slow and deliberate so she doesn’t spook him - that’s happened before, Killian flinching away before he could stop himself, and Emma had been so upset with herself. She’s been more careful with him since then.

“Aye,” he says with a cheerfulness he doesn’t feel as he stands up, “What did the doc say?”

“That you’re healed enough to go home.”

Killian knows immediately that she’s hiding something. It makes no sense for the doctor to take her out of his hearing just to confirm that Killian can go home today. And there’s was a hesitation in Emma’s response and in her smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replies too fast, but then seeing his disbelieving look she adds, “…that we need to worry about right now. Let’s just go home, okay?”

Killian looks into her eyes and sees hope and worry and _love_ and he really, really can’t wait to get home. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

Their house is deafeningly quiet after the constant bustle of the hospital. Henry’s staying with Regina for the night, and Killian’s thankful for that because he’s worn out from the day’s events already, although there are still several hours of daylight left, and he doesn’t think he could handle the lad’s exuberance right now. He sits at the table, his hook finally back in place, and appreciates the sounds of her making hot chocolate, driving away the silence. He’d found himself craving a drink besides water and since he’s apparently not supposed to drink anything alcoholic while on this pain medication, hot chocolate it is then. He’s rather come to enjoy the sweet beverage, the warmth comforting and calming now that he’s used to just how _sweet_ it is – even without Emma adding the cream or the sugar, the way she made her own. It had taken him some time to get used to this realm’s obsession with flavours and sometimes he still struggles. Everything was just _so much_. Emma’s approach pulls him from his reflections.

“Here you go,” she says, placing a mug on the table in front of him, with a straw in it.

Right. Killian had nearly forgotten that he couldn’t even hold a damn cup at the moment. Trying to hide his frustration, he dips his head to catch the straw in his mouth and takes a sip. Then he straightens up and gives Emma his full attention.

“So are you going to tell me what it was the doctor said to you?” he asks.

She takes a slow mouthful of her own drink, very obviously delaying her response.

“You’re showing signs of Petey Essdee,” she finally says in a rush.

Killian just raises his eyebrow. He’s not heard of that term before.

“Of what? Sorry, Swan, but you’re gonna have to explain that one to me.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. Um.” Her face scrunches up a little as she tries to think. “It’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Shell shock? Battle fatigue? I don’t know what you call it where you came from.”

But Killian knows _that_ term well enough. In his pirating days, he’d seen many a man lose himself in the horrors of what he’d done or seen. One of them had been part of Killian’s own crew and he remembers with a rush of shame how he’d snarled _you bloody coward_ and thrown the shivering man overboard for the mermaids, without a shred of remorse at the time. But Killian’s far stronger than those men and he’s been through worse things than this. His eyes narrow.

“Do you _really_ think so?”

Emma shrugs a bit guiltily.

“The doctor’s right. The symptoms _are_ there. Nightmares, avoidance,” she ticks them off on his fingers, “the way you don’t want anyone to touch your hand-”

“Of course I bloody don’t,” Killian snaps.

“…irritability,” she continues, giving him a meaningful look before continuing, “anxiety attacks. Killian, he just recommended you talk to Archie, okay? Work through those feelings a bit.”

He wants to say no. He really, _really_ does. What does the cricket know of suffering anyway? He can’t help with this – Archie’s likely never experienced anything more alarming than that time Killian threatened to dissect him. But Emma’s meeting his eyes with a look just as intense as his own, and in the end he’s the one to break off the stare, take another mouthful of hot chocolate, and agree to what she’s asking of him.

“Why didn’t the doctor tell me this himself?” he asks, after a moment of quiet.

“He was… a bit scared of you, I think. You’ve been kind of short tempered lately.”

Killian can’t deny that.

* * *

Though he has regained some of his strength through regular meals and plenty of rest, Killian guesses he still suffering from the effects of too little sleep and too many beatings, because his stamina is pathetically low – and it doesn’t help that his sleep is still interrupted by bad dreams. Because he fully intended to make full use of the shower that night, but he makes the mistake of lying down on the bed first ( _just for a moment, to gather his strength_ ) and that’s the end of it. He wakes still on the bed, next to Emma, not long after dawn, the remnants of a dream he can’t quite remember making his heart race and his breaths shiver through him. Emma makes a quiet noise of displeasure as he carefully slips out from under the covers, although she doesn’t fully wake. Killian goes to the bathroom, snarls at his reflection in the mirror when he realises he can’t even splash water on his face, not without getting something to cover his stitches first. Bloody hell, he _hates_ this with a fiery passion. Not for the first time since his rescue, Killian’s suddenly desperate to look upon the sea again and at least that is something he can do. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes, and Emma had obviously not wanted to disturb his sleep by stripping him, so it’s just a matter of slipping his boots back on and putting his hook into place. Then he awkwardly scribbles a note for Emma so she won’t worry when she wakes alone, with the pen tucked between his thumb and the rest of his hand. It’s legible enough, he decides, although far from his usual precision.

The sun is still low on the horizon, casting deep shadows across the harbour. Killian settles on the edge of the dock, his boots dangling above the water, breathing the cold, salty air deep into his lungs. There’s a school of brightly coloured fish below his feet, swimming in a pattern that’s somehow both chaotic and soothing, and Killian feels himself begin to unwind. Gods, he’s missed this. He sits there until the sun is much higher, revelling in the warmth of it seeping through his leather coat, the briny scent, the taste of salt on his tongue, the sound of water lapping gently against the dock, the-

“Hey, Killian.” 

Killian jumps a little at how close the voice is. He feels himself losing his balance at his sudden motion and has a moment of panic when he can’t just grab the edge of the dock with his hand to stop his forward wobble. He stabs his hook into the wood instead to anchor himself. A hand catches his shoulder, further steadying him, and he absolutely does _not_ flinch. (He does. Damn it. He wishes he would stop being so easily startled.)

“Sorry,” says Henry, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No harm done,” Killian assures him with a smile, pretending his heart isn’t trying to beat right out of his chest.

Henry releases Killian’s shoulder and sits down next to him.

“Mom said you were down here. What’s up?”

He peers into the water below them.

“Watching the fish, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s… calming. Being here. I’ve missed it.”

Killian doesn’t feel as much of a need to keep up his ‘tough pirate appearance,’ as Emma calls it, when it’s only Henry around. In fact, much to his surprise he realizes there are now several people he feels he can let down his guard around, for the most part. Emma, of course. David. Snow White. And he supposes he’ll have to do the same with the cricket fairly soon too. The idea brings a dark cloud over his thoughts again.

“Yeah, I bet. Hey, we should get some pet fish,” Henry says, “You know, maybe having a piece of this place at home will help and you won’t have to run off when you get nightmares.”

Henry immediately realizes he’s said the wrong thing. Killian’s muscles have tightened, his teeth biting down on the immediate defensive response he wants to give. He’s not sure why Henry’s flippant comment has bothered him so much, but it has. Maybe because he makes it sound like Killian is a coward. _Running off when you get nightmares._ And Killian can’t deny it because that’s exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? Maybe he is a coward.

“I-I mean… Not that coming to the docks is _wrong_ , I just…” Henry scrambles for words.

Killian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, watching it hang in the air in front of his face.

“It’s alright, lad, I know your intention,” he says, careful to smooth the irrational anger that’s trying to sharpen his tone, “And it’s not a bad idea either, if you can convince your mother.”

Emma’s right about his outbursts. He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time, the darkness twisting its way through his very soul, erupting hot and vicious at the slightest provocation. A shiver runs up his spine and he busies himself with working his hook out of the boards.

“Great!” Henry flashes him a grin. “And don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll agree.”

And that’s how, about a week later, Emma and Killian’s house becomes home to a decent sized glass tank full of colourful fish that Henry calls “Killian’s emotional support fish.” And Henry had been right; watching them _is_ calming. It’s not the same as being at the docks or on his ship, of course, but it does help. He’s grateful for the lad’s idea especially that time he wakes in the night with fear twisting his gut and realizes it’s pouring rain outside, freezing cold, and Emma would have his hide if he attempted to visit the docks in this weather, he puts Henry’s theory to the test. Later, Emma finds him sitting on the couch watching the fish across the room, breaths carefully slow and when she tucks herself against his side, he manages a smile that he actually means.

**_To be continued..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support of my little story! The next chapter is scheduled for posting on Christmas day, so I have a fluffy (mostly) Christmas-y chapter all ready for you all. :D


	6. Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to my lovely readers! Hope you all are having a lovely time. Here’s a bit of fluff before we get back into the heavier angst. For the prompt “baking.”

Killian’s certain he’s never going to get over the marvel that is hot running water. Showers continue to be one of his favourite things about this realm – that and _toilets_. Basic hygiene had never been so easy. In fact, _everything_ is easy. He can flip a switch and flood the room with light far more powerful than any lantern. He can turn a knob and the metal plates on the counter heat up without a fire. Never mind such amazing things like _washing machines_ or _heaters_ or even cars. And this thing called a mixer, which whisks ingredients together at the flick of a switch. Henry is grinning at him as he demonstrates this, and Killian tries to wipe the expression of astonishment off his own face.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Henry says, “Much faster than doing it by hand. Otherwise we’d never get this done before mom gets home.”

It had been Henry’s idea to bake these biscuits today, on Christmas Eve, while Emma was out dealing with some “grinches” who were apparently trying to ruin Christmas. Killian didn’t know what that meant, but Emma had given him a quick kiss and promised she would be back soon, and he’d decided he’d question her meaning later. He’s honestly quite relieved that she feels he’s finally recovered enough not to need her constant supervision. His stitches were removed earlier in the week, and he’s reluctantly been to see Archie after further insistence from Emma. Though Killian wasn’t comfortable sharing much of his trauma with the cricket, and even less of his feelings about it, Archie had treated him with nothing but kindness and understanding, which Killian supposed shouldn’t have surprised him, but it had. And Killian’s beginning to feel a little better, both physically and mentally. Some things are still problematic without the use of his still-splinted fingers, but Killian is nothing if not adaptable, and he’s discovered there are a lot of tasks that can actually be managed, albeit awkwardly, with just his hook and his thumb. So here they were, Henry’s enthusiasm for his self-appointed task having quickly garnered Killian’s interest, leading to this moment, which is Henry explaining _no we have to do it like this_ with flour smudged across his cheek and Killian giving him a raised eyebrow as he challenged _does it really need_ that _much sugar?_ He’s starting to get the feeling that for all Henry’s knowledge on these modern kitchen tools, the lad may not have actually made this particular cuisine before.

“Yes,” Henry says firmly, a tone that leaves no room for further questioning.

Killian lets it go. Emma _does_ like sweet foods, and since Killian hasn’t ever made snickerdoodles before, he thinks he probably should allow Henry to take the lead on this; however much it pains him to watch Henry pour that much sugar into the bowl. But he can’t resist making one last comment-

“Are you sure you’re not just making this up as you go, lad? Because ‘snickerdoodles’ doesn’t sound like a real food.”

“I’m not making it up,” Henry insists, “I’ve helped mom make them before.”

“Then where’s the recipe?”

“I read it on wickapeedia.”

And Killian’s lost again. He hasn’t a clue what a wickapeedia is.

“On what?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a website. It has information on everything. Like, an encyclopedia, but on the internet.”

“Do you always get your recipes from this wicka… whatever?”

“Of course not.” Henry looks affronted before turning his attention back to their task. “Now, crack two eggs into this bowl. I’ll get the salt.”

Killian takes two steps away to grab the required eggs before he remembers, and he grimaces at the realization, shame washing over him.

“Henry, I… I can’t…”

“What?”

It takes Henry a moment, the room falling into silence – well, not quiet silence because there’s still the ever-present festive music playing somewhat discordant strains in the background, because Henry insisted on it. It’s a long, agonizing moment of scrutiny and Killian’s explanation dies on his tongue, an intense discomfort creeping up his spine. He can’t bring himself to put to words how useless he is.

“Oh, _crap_ ,” Henry says intensely, finally, wide eyed, “I’m so sorry, Killian, I forgot. Uh, you…” he casts his gaze frantically around the kitchen for something Killian can do with only a thumb and a hook, and apparently comes up with nothing.

Killian looks away, swallowing hard. He had thought himself crippled all those years ago when the Crocodile took his hand, and all the painful days following it as he struggled to learn how to function as less than whole, his body and soul wrecked in an instant by Rumpelstiltskin’s callous actions. He’d thought at the time that was the worst fate that could have been laid on him. But now he doesn’t even have the use of his right hand and he’s the most useless he’s ever been. Killian is struck with a desperate need to _get away_. Perhaps he will find some calm on the Jolly Roger. He glances out the window. There is a bank of clouds gathering in the distance, but the sun is still shining brightly.

“Never mind, lad, I can-”

“No, wait, you’re in charge of the mixer. Here, let me just-”

Killian watches rather dejectedly as Henry places the necessary ingredients in the bowl and sets it in place to be mixed, leaving Killian with the meagre job of pressing the button. While he appreciates Henry’s attempt to include him, it hasn’t done anything to alleviate his feel of inadequacy. Damn the men who did this to him, to the deepest depths of the Underworld. Simply leaving them locked in a brig seems an insufficient penalty for what they’ve done, and Killian muses on better ways to punish them while he watches the mixer whisking the ingredients together. He gets some satisfaction out of his rather grisly fantasies. But he knows they’ll remain only fantasies. As badly as he desires to hurt his torturers like they hurt him, he’s _better_ than that now, and he forces his thoughts away from it.

Once the “snickerdoodles” are in the oven, Killian settles onto the couch. There’s not much he can do around the house yet, not until his splints are removed, so he distracts himself by playing a game of chess with Henry. It feels good, getting him out of his own head again. He slips easily into verbal sparring, and he’s taught Henry well because the lad is almost able to match Killian’s quick wit during their banter – but he still can’t quite match Killian’s ability to win at chess. He’s just about to trap Henry into a checkmate when-

“What the hell is that?” Killian will never admit how high his voice went in his fright, as the house is suddenly filled with a deafening screaming sound.

Henry bolts to his feet and bumps the chessboard roughly in his haste, sending pieces flying.

“The snickerdoodles!” he shouts over the noise.

Killian’s fairly sure it’s _not_ the snickerdoodles. He can’t be certain, of course, but creating baked goods that scream seems a bit odd, even for this realm. But smoke is billowing out of the kitchen. Killian doesn’t know how neither of them noticed until now; apparently, they’d been too immersed in their chess match. Henry’s frantically trying to rescue the biscuits, or something, and Killian’s at a loss for what he should be doing. Perhaps they should abandon the house. Perhaps he should call Emma.

“Open some windows! We have to clear this smoke!” Henry shouts, and he’s coughing now, and Killian continues to stand by helplessly because he can’t even unlatch a bloody window.

“Henry, I-”

“Damn it,” says Henry, and then a quick “Sorry!” for his language before he scampers around opening the windows himself.

If she were here, Emma would have pulled him up on it. Killian thinks they have more pressing concerns at this point. It seems the snickerdoodles are beyond saving.

“How do we turn this bloody thing off?” Killian asks.

“There should be a button on it. Or something.” Henry looks frazzled, flapping his hands about as if he can shoo the smoke out the window faster by doing so.

Killian looks up at the offending object, a white disc fastened to the ceiling, and his mind finally settles into a strategy.

“Henry, use a dishtowel to move the smoke,” he instructs.

He uses his hook to drag a kitchen chair into place under the still-shrieking disc, giving him the height he needs to… He can’t see the button Henry mentioned and the close proximity to the horrid noise is making his head feel like it’ll burst. Ah, well, time for a new plan then. He jams his hook into the side of the disc, close to the ceiling, and yanks hard downwards. The disc comes loose with a cracking sound as something gives way, and the screaming cuts off immediately. The broken disc clatters to the floor, just as the front door bursts open.

“Henry! Killian!” shouts a remarkably familiar voice, and Killian instantly regrets his hasty plan-making.

“Mom,” Henry splutters, “Uh, we were… Um, just… Oops?”

Killian quickly clambers off the chair. The smoke has abated somewhat, thanks to Henry’s waving of the dishtowel. Emma’s eyes are wide, her breaths a little quick, her phone in her hand like she was about to make a call. She looks frightened.

“Apologies, love. It seems the snickerdoodles required a little more attention than we gave them,” Killian says lightly, hoping to put her at ease.

“I saw all the smoke and I thought…” she laughs shakily, clearly struggling to pull herself together.

“We’re fine, mom, really. It got a little smoky, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Henry gives her a reassuring smile. Thankfully, seeing them unharmed seems to be enough to calm her, because she doesn’t even complain about the acrid smell of burned biscuits still pervading the kitchen. She shoves her phone back into her pocket and pulls them both in for a hug instead.

“Killian, you destroyed the smoke alarm,” she says with a shaky laugh when they break apart.

Killian looks at the item in question.

“We were certainly alarmed enough about all this, without its infernal screaming,” he says wryly, “But I admit, I may have a been… a _little_ hasty with my method. Henry told me there was a button that would silence it?”

“Yeah. It’s right there.” She points out the button on the disc, easily noticeable now that Killian’s not being deafened by it. “But it’s okay. We can replace it.”

Once the blackened snickerdoodles are sufficiently cooled, Henry takes them out to the trash, and Killian pulls Emma into another embrace.

“I am truly sorry for scaring you, love,” he says softly, “Henry wanted to give you a surprise gift, and he said you would enjoy these biscuits. We were playing chess while we waited for them to cook, and time got away from us. But there was no fire. We were actually quite safe, despite how it must have appeared.”

“It’s okay, really. I overreacted.” Emma sighs heavily, her fingers curling gently around the back of Killian’s neck, content just to be held for a moment. “Ugh. I do love it, but all this Christmas stuff is so stressful.”

Killian coaxes her chin up with his thumb so he can kiss her, just briefly, because Henry will be back shortly and will undoubtedly make some comment about how gross they are if he catches them in such a position.

“I’m sorry I’ve added to that stress,” he says remorsefully, still so close, his mouth reluctant to let go of hers.

“It’s _fine_ , Killian. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time…”

Emma launches into a colourful tale of a past Christmas endeavour, and of mistakes far greater than the snickerdoodle incident, and when Henry returns, he too shares some hilarious anecdotes. And they end up laughing until Killian’s sides hurt and Emma is wiping tears from her eyes, and Henry has collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. Killian wishes he could just stay in this moment and this feeling of pure joy for the rest of his life.

After dinner, all three of them settle onto the couch, basking in the warmth of the fire and the twinkling of the lights on the tree in the corner of the room. Emma’s chosen a movie for them to watch, one that is apparently a “Christmas classic.” Killian hasn’t seen it before, but he doesn’t find it very captivating, though he doesn’t let Emma or Henry know that. He _is_ extremely appreciative that they are including him in their holiday traditions, though he doesn’t quite understand this whole Christmas thing. It seems rather like a bunch of disjointed stories all strung together, and Killian still doesn’t get the connection between the birth of a god and an overweight man climbing down a chimney to deliver gifts. But no matter. He’s all warm and cosy, and he feels completely safe – a feeling that has been all too rare recently. And he wonders how he got so lucky to find such a family. His _family._ By all the gods, he’s a lucky man. Despite everything he is, everything he’s _done_ , they love him. And come tomorrow, Snow and David will visit with their child, eager to celebrate Christmas with them. The thought makes Killian feel both elated and terrified, because they want to spend time with him and Emma and Henry and he’s so fortunate to have people like that, but they probably both know how broken he is and he won’t be able to stand their looks of pity.

When they wake to Henry knocking on their bedroom door loudly and gleefully shouting that it’s _a white Christmas_ , it’s barely daylight.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Emma calls out, her voice a bit hoarse from sleep.

“Okay!” and they hear him rushing down the stairs.

Outside, there’s the strange sort of quiet that heralds the falling snow, and Emma only burrows deeper into the soft blankets surrounding them, clearly having no desire to leave the cosy warmth of their bed. Killian props himself up on his elbow, a small smile curving his lips as he looks at her.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers, sleepy, and utterly gorgeous.

He really wants to kiss her right on the mouth, but he knows from past experiences that it’ll make her pull away from him, because ‘morning breath’ and all that. So Killian kisses her cheek instead, soft and gentle, and a calm warmth settles in his chest. His heart has never felt so full.

“Merry Christmas, Emma.”

**_To be continued..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will see you all next year, with a new chapter!


	7. Flashbacks + Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! And good riddance to the absolute mess that was 2020. Here we are back into the angst and the hurt, for the prompts “flashbacks,” and “hot cocoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: referenced rape. (it's super vague though)

Christmas wasn’t as bad as Killian had worried. He was careful to ensure his back was never left unguarded, because he was still too easily startled by anyone touching him from behind, and David and Snow White hadn’t brought up any difficult topics, and Killian had only caught Snow staring at his splinted hand once. He’d had a good day, everything considered. They laughed, and talked, and ate good food and exchanged gifts. Though between imbibing a bit too much alcohol and the strain of being so hyper-vigilant for that length of time, by the time their guests had left Killian was barely still on his feet. But it was okay because Emma was there to brace him when he wobbled precariously on his way upstairs. And he thought that was a good metaphor for their relationship, really. Heh. It seemed he was a little drunker than he first believed if he’s getting this maudlin.

* * *

Early in the new year, the doctor declares Killian’s fingers healed enough to have the splints off, and shortly after, Killian concludes that physical therapy is not far removed from torture. His fingers have become too used to remaining straight and flexing them _hurts._ And his therapist, Stacy, is completely indifferent to his suffering. Her hands on his own are sure and relentless as she coaxes his fingers into different positions and he just barely stops himself from yanking his hand from her grip.

“Bloody hell,” he hisses instead, and at least she has the decency to apologize.

But she doesn’t let his hand go.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I did warn you this wouldn’t be pleasant to start with.”

She _had_ warned him, he’ll give her that. But he wasn’t prepared for how much it would pain him. Or how soon his dark memories would begin to creep out of the cage he’d locked them in. Blood and bone and _see how well you can escape now, pirate._ He grits his teeth and tries to focus on what Stacy’s telling him.

“See if you can make a fist.”

His fingers don’t want to. He flexes them barely enough to hold a cup instead and Killian’s chewing on his lower lip hard enough to hurt.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just relax a bit, huh? Captain?”

He’s _not_ trembling. There’s definitely _not_ a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. His heart is _not_ beating loudly in his ears. _Take some deep breaths, Jones, before you bloody lose it._

“Are you okay? We can take a break if you need to.”

“I’m fine,” he lies.

Stacy sees right through him. Of course. It’s not like he’s making a very convincing effort here. She hands him a squishy ball and tells him to try squeezing it. Thankfully Killian has a little more success with that, although it still hurts and his grasp is weak. But Stacy lets him end the session on that “high note,” and Killian silently fumes all the way back home, his boots hitting the pavement with a little more force than required. The doctor had promised his hand would heal, and when he’d been told it would be “almost as good” as before, Killian had assumed he’d actually be able to make a damn fist.

* * *

Emma had offered to take the day off work to attend Killian’s first physical therapy session with him, but he’d declined. He didn’t need her to play nursemaid anymore, and he definitely didn’t want her to see what a mess he was emotionally afterwards. And he’s immensely grateful they’d had the foresight to get Henry out of the house for a while, just in case of this exact outcome. Killian had scoffed at Emma’s suggestion, at her insinuation he wouldn’t be able to handle a bit of therapy, but now he’s reluctantly admitting that she was right. Because even once he’s back home, his heartrate still hasn’t calmed down and he can almost _feel_ his captor’s touch on him again, the sensation making him want to claw off his own skin. He takes a long, hot shower and debates whether he should take the pills for his aching hand or drink some rum – rum wins in the end because he hopes it’ll also calm his thoughts. Archie won’t be happy if he finds out Killian hasn’t been using the “proper coping techniques,” but bugger that, Killian thinks he’s earned this. So that’s where Emma finds him when she gets home from work, sprawled out on the couch in dark jeans and a shirt buttoned even less than usual, with a bit too much rum in his blood, bleary eyes watching his fish swim back and forth.

“How’d it go?” Emma asks, before she really takes in the sight of him, “Oh. That bad, huh?”

“S’fine. Just got a little tense afterwards, needed to calm down.”

His voice slurs just a little. He must look a mess, because Emma plucks the bottle from his loose fingers and sets it out of reach before sitting next to him. He doesn’t protest. The pain has settled deep into his knuckles where the rum couldn’t reach it anyway. Perhaps he should have taken Stacy’s advice and put some ice on it. Too late now.

“Does it hurt?” Emma asks, and Killian probably should have done a better job at concealing that fact from her.

But the way his fingers are twitching, and he’s tucked his hand gently into the crook of his left elbow, bracing his right arm against his chest now she’s taken the bottle away leaves no room to deny that it hurts.

“Aye, but not too much.”

 _Not too much._ It’s the truth because he’s felt far worse pain. He can handle a few spasms, a few shooting pains through his fingers. At least he still _has_ any fingers to feel pain in. When his captors had maimed it, and then continued to target it throughout the following days, he’d honestly thought that would be the end of his hand. He can feel his heartbeat quicken again and he tries to distance himself from that memory quickly, and thankfully Emma provides the distraction. She conjures something from somewhere without leaving his side, a bottle of liquid that smells heavenly as she tips some onto her hand and rubs them together. Killian watches her with weary curiosity.

“Let me help?” Emma reaches for his hand and he gives it to her without hesitation.

She’s always so gentle, her hands so soft and careful with his wounds. And now, as she works her warm hand across his in soothing patterns Killian wonders what he did to deserve this beautiful woman. Emma watches his face for any signs that she’s hurting him, and he gives her an encouraging smile. Her ministrations, even without her magic, are pulling the tension from his muscles in a way neither the rum nor the medicine could ever do. He lets out a quiet sigh and rests his head on the couch, closing his eyes, surrendering completely to the pleasant sensations and the feeling of total safety he has with Emma. The scent of the oil washes over his senses, calming and balancing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asks, her quiet voice a balm over his tired soul.

“Not really.”

He knows she won’t push him. He doesn’t want to think about therapy or trauma or any of that right now and she lets him get away with it, pressing her lips lightly against his temple. He hums a faint sound of satisfaction.

“I wish I could take away your pain,” Emma murmurs, “I hate seeing you suffer and not being able to do a damn thing about it.”

“Believe me, Emma, you’re doing plenty. This is wonderful.”

His voice is barely audible. He feels blissful and content. He’s not sure how much of the feeling is the rum finally taking effect and how much is Emma’s gentle touch and how much is the scent of the oil. Her fingers are still moving steadily over his own, tracing lightly over the still-healing scars.

“Do you want to move this upstairs? And I can do the rest of you.”

As loathe as Killian is to move on from this delightfully tranquil moment, the thought of Emma doing _the rest of him_ is too tempting and he hauls himself off the couch. Though logically, he knew that Emma wouldn’t get to do much more massaging once they relocated to the bedroom. But he didn’t mind _that_ at all. Their kisses are heated and passionate and he knows he’s setting her every nerve ablaze, even though they’ve barely started. He knows all her sensitive spots; where to stroke and to squeeze, where to press his lips, his tongue, where to bite and where to suck, how to roll his hips against her in a way that makes Emma grow wild with desire. She’s losing herself in the sensations, he can see in the darkening of her green eyes, her hands shaking as she frantically unfastens his belt and tugs at his trousers and- Panic claws its way up his throat. Killian’s movement stutters, then stops completely. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to calm himself down, trying to breathe. _It’s okay, you’re safe, it’s just Emma_ the rational part of his mind says, but he _could_ be still in the cellar right now, bent over and they’re about to-

“Killian?”

No. Those are _Emma’s_ hands touching him. Holding his hips to steady him because he’s trembling. But suddenly he can’t, he _can’t,_ his stomach is twisting into a nauseating knot and he pulls away from her touch.

“S-sorry, love, I don’t think I can…”

Killian gestures vaguely, and he can’t even look at her as he scrambles off the bed, his hand shaking as he awkwardly holds up his jeans. His arousal is fading, all his intentions of a moment ago swept away by his fears. By his memories. _Just look at yourself, Hook. Can’t even please a woman. You’re broken. You’re a coward._ The thoughts don’t feel quite like his own, more like a memory of words spat at him by others, though he whole-heartedly agrees with them. Emma stops him with a gentle hand on his arm before he can move out of reach. It’s altogether too much and he wants to tell her to stop, but the words he wants to say are choking him, because _Killian Jones doesn’t beg._

“Killian, look at me,” Emma says, and waits for him to reluctantly lift his gaze to her own, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do this.”

He swallows hard and he’s still shaking, but he doesn’t run. No matter how bad he wants to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I just…” Killian struggles to explain.

She stands and reaches up slowly to stroke his cheek, but he can’t help flinching away from her touch. Emma drops her hands to her sides again immediately and Killian’s heart cracks in half at the look of guilt on her face.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Emma repeats softly, “Just stay with me.”

Killian had never spoken of it to her, but it was no secret what he’d been through during his capture. Emma had probably seen the blood, and the bruises on his hips from where they’d held him still. She _knew_. Killian swallows hard as he watches the emotions play out across her face. He loves her so much it hurts. But gods, he can’t do this right now, as desperately as he wants to. Because they’ve ruined him, sullied his mind and his body and broke him so thoroughly that now he’s utterly dependant on Emma, and tonight he can’t even give her the one thing she wants in return.

“What do you need me to do, Killian?” she asks softly.

Words fail him. And he’s not sure what he would even say if he was capable of speech. What _does_ he need? He needs to forget, just for a while. To drink until he blacks out. To lose himself in Emma’s scent and her touch. But he can’t. He can’t do anything _._ He’s helpless. Emma lets her hands drift to his belt again, buckling it again in slow, deliberate movements because his hand is shaking too badly now to do it himself. Killian chews on his lower lip hard enough to hurt, _wants_ it to hurt, anything to feel something that isn’t the blinding terror of someone else’s hands on his body. It’s just Emma, being so careful and gentle like she always is now so why can’t he move past this? Why is he shaking so badly?

“It’s okay,” she assures him, “Don’t worry about this. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a sharp breath like he’s been holding it too long, and maybe he has, “But add some rum to mine, will you?”

He laughs on his exhale, a weak and breathless thing. She smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes – eyes that are full of something akin to sorrow, and far too much _sympathy_. He hates knowing those emotions are directed at him, he’s not worthy of her compassion and he can’t bear to look at her anymore, his eyes darting away to some point across the room. Emma doesn’t bother putting back on the clothes he pulled off her, just pulls a robe around herself to ward off the evening chill, and Killian trails behind her down to the kitchen, tries to breathe as she fills the jug and sets it to boil. He can’t stand still. Everything feels _wrong_. His whole body is a tightly coiled spring, aching with a need that his traitorous mind won’t allow him to fulfil. It’s going to drive him mad. And worse than his own need is the thought that he’s leaving _Emma_ unsatisfied as well. Then Emma turns to him, reaches for him slowly, and when he turns his face away and his pursed lips out of reach but doesn’t step back, she changes her strategy, presses a tender kiss to the smooth line of his throat. He’s still trembling, but her touch draws a desperate almost-whine from him. Bloody hell, he _needs_ her like he needs to breathe.

“Stay with me, Killian,” she murmurs, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But I need you with me, right here.”

Her hand settles over his heart, and even through his shirt he’s certain she can feel how quickly it’s beating. But she waits for him, looks into his eyes and waits for him to move. When Killian does move, it’s with a rush as he takes her mouth with his, eyes closed, his hand cradling the back of her head. Emma’s hands are light, her touch soothing, letting him take what he needs. And she’s as intoxicating as ever, just the taste of her mouth sending a delicious heat through his body and he never wants this to end. But this is as far as he can go tonight. Killian can still feel the memories in the back of his mind, like a dark chasm he could easily tumble into if he takes the wrong step. He’s been trying to keep them contained in a box, an imaginary cage he can throw all the trauma into, but it seems the strain of physical therapy had loosened his mental lock on it.

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice is rough when he releases her lips and turns his face away again in humiliation. “I want to, but… I’m- I’m sorry.”

He tries to step away, his shame overwhelming, but Emma isn’t going to let him go so easily. Her hand presses lightly against the small of his back, coaxing him back to her, feeling the tremors still skittering down his spine. She lifts her other hand on his face, fingers caressing his tightly clenched jaw as she draws his attention back to her.

“It’s okay,” she tells him again, and he knows she’ll tell him as many times as she has to before he believes her, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just breathe, Killian. Just… Just _stay_.”

“I’m here, Swan,” he says, cursing the way his voice shakes.

His thumb brushes her cheek, before he lowers his forehead gently against hers and breathes deeply, breathing her in, the curve of his hook resting against her hip. Emma gives a soft sigh as he does so. He can feel himself calming, settling into her embrace, soothed by her caresses. The moment is broken by the bubbling sound and subsequent click of the jug as it finishes boiling the water, but although Killian’s hand still trembles a little when he takes the cup of cocoa, he gifts her with a smile of gratitude. She’s too good for him, far more kind than he could ever deserve. And yet here she still is, smiling back at him over her cup, her lips almost hidden behind the pile of whipped cream she’s scooped into her drink.

* * *

(Later, he uses his mouth to satisfy her needs, and at least he can still do that, but for himself? He’s reduced to finishing off in the shower alone, like the coward he is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave it on such a sad note but I promise things will get better for poor Killian next week! (or not hahaha (but no seriously, it will be a happier ending))


	8. Panic Attacks + Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised you guys some more comfort and here it is! For the prompts “panic attacks” and “exhaustion.” In which our poor pirate has just had a tough session with Archie and finds himself in dire need of some comfort. Thankfully, Emma is close at hand to give it to him.

Killian gets better. He spends some time on the Jolly Roger, though his fingers still struggle to do much of the finer work on her and Henry picks up the slack with great enthusiasm. He goes out for drinks with David on a Friday night and only imbibes an appropriate amount of liquor, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz and not so much it leaves him hungover in the morning. Killian takes Emma in his arms regularly and kisses her and lets her hold him – though after the disaster of their last attempt, any further _enjoyable activities_ are focused on Emma’s needs, and his trousers stay on until he’s alone in the privacy of the bathroom. But it’s okay. Emma continues to be supportive and gentle and like she promised that night, she doesn’t do anything he’s not comfortable with. Meanwhile, Killian keeps his appointments with Stacy and with Archie. He loves and laughs and _lives_ , and does his best to move forward _._ But the way to healing is not smooth sailing. Other days every sound still makes him flinch, makes him want to hide away even from Emma. Some nights his terrible dreams have him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Sometimes his hand just won’t stop shaking.

* * *

It’s a combination of a bad day and Archie poking at his trauma that finally does him in. His sessions with the cricket often leave him feeling drained, but this is something else – a dark, roiling storm of fear and horror throughout his body as his legs carry him onward without conscious thought. He can’t even remember leaving Archie’s office at the end of their appointment, but the overwhelming urge to _get_ _away_ has brought him to the Jolly’s deck and he can’t bloody _breathe._ He trips on something and slams onto the deck, hard. For a moment it all stops, recognizable wood under his cheek and his hand steadying, grounding. But _up, up_ his mind screams, wild with fear, and he’s helpless to refute it. He should be feeling calmer now, standing on the Jolly like this, and maybe he would if he could get _any_ of the salty air into his lungs or hear her familiar sounds over the roaring in his ears. The need to hide away lest someone sees him in such a frenzied state overwhelms him, driving him below deck to his quarters before his wobbly legs give out once more. This time he doesn’t have enough strength to follow the commands of _get up, Hook!_ And it’s been a long time now since his subconscious has called him by that name. Killian’s losing himself, he’s going to fall right off the damn world, his head is spinning so much and he knows, _knows_ he needs to breathe but he can’t quite get that message through to his ribcage that seems set on squeezing his lungs. He crawls rather pathetically to the nearest vertical surface to lean against. He fights his body’s instinctive desire to curl up and instead focuses on the feel of the solid thing at his back, legs sprawled in front of him, because he needs to breathe and folding in on himself is just going to make it more difficult. _Just focus on where you are right now. Breathe. I’m safe. I’m safe. Just breathe._ He’s so single-mindedly concentrating on trying to calm himself down that when his phone jingles, he nearly jumps out of his skin. And that sets him right back at where he started, undoing all the efforts he’d put into slowing his breathing and he bites out a strangled curse between ragged breaths, furious at his own weakness. He tugs the phone from his pocket, fingers trembling so bad he nearly drops it, and squints at the screen. _Emma._

“Hey, Killian,” Emma’s voice comes through almost immediately once he presses the answer button, “How’d it go today?”

He doesn’t know how she seemed to sense all is not well and called him at this exact time. He hadn’t thought to ask for her help, but now her voice is in his ear, he’s feeling rather desperate for the comfort she could provide. But the words falter on Killian’s lips and since when did they start tingling like that?

“Killian? Are you there?”

“S-swan, I need…”

 _Help._ Killian’s mind is at war, one side screaming that he’s going to die and the other, a quiet bit of rationality saying he’s actually fine, he’s experienced this before and he knows how to deal with it. _Just relax, slow your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay._ He knows what he needs to do to bring himself out of it but dammit, it’s been centuries since he’d been felled by one this powerful and so he’s out of practice, okay? ( _He doesn’t know who he’s trying to justify himself to._ )

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Jolly…” he gasps and that’s all the breath he has.

The phone slips out of his hand. His fingers push into his chest, over his racing heart, as he tries futilely to draw a decent breath. It feels like his heart is trying to beat right out of him, an almost painful hammering that echoes in his ears.

“Killian?”

Emma sounds close. Real. No longer tinny through the phone, although the blood rushing through Killian’s head still muffles it. He startles at the sight of her face suddenly appearing in his darkening vision as she kneels beside him, the flinch making his head smack against the wood behind him.

“Hey, easy, you need to calm down, Killian, you need to-”

As if Killian’s not painfully aware of that fact and doing his best to manage such a feat. It shouldn’t be _this_ difficult.

“Can I… can I touch you?” Emma asks, her voice a carefully steady tone, like she’s panicking as much as he is and trying not to.

Speech is beyond him now, but he nods, a tiny motion as his eyes flutter closed. Emma’s hand is on his shoulder at once and her fingers are tugging his fingers away from his chest to hold onto them firmly, a solid counterpoint to the terrible whirling of the world. It only makes him want to pull away a little bit, his scrambled mind briefly unsure if this contact is _safe_ or not, though she asked and he gave permission. And he _knows_ it’s safe. It’s only Emma. Gods, he really needs to calm down.

“Killian. _Killian._ ” A soft mutter of _don’t make me slap you_ , and Killian thinks he should respond to that strange comment. He can’t though, he’s too preoccupied with trying to get air. “I need you to slow it down a bit, okay? Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do this.”

He’s probably crushing her fingers right now, Killian thinks dazedly. Last time, he’d gripped the charms on his necklace so hard the marks on his hand remained for hours. The time before, he’d twisted his fingers into a rope, pulled it tight enough that it chafed his skin, desperately trying to find something solid to drag him back to reality as the tempest rattled his mind. Huh. Killian hadn’t even thought of those events in probably a century. It’s funny where the mind goes when it thinks you’re about to die.

“Hey, look at me. _Look at me_ , Killian.”

Oh, right. Emma’s still here. And he’s still not able to take a decent breath. He lifts his heavy eyelids and she’s so close, and so beautiful, green eyes wide with concern for him and her hair framing her face. He’s not sure at what point he’s ended up laying on his back with his head on her lap, but he’s not complaining.

“There you are,” she’s saying, and he’s earned a wan smile, apparently, “That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Take a nice, slow breath for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Gods, she’s far more patient with him than he deserves. But his breath is flowing easier, her gentle touch and her calm voice quelling the storm within him. She’s caressing his face and he tries to pull his hand from hers because he’s surely hurt her fingers during his episode, but he’s trembling quite strongly now as he comes out of it and she won’t let him go.

“Ssshh, just relax,” she murmurs, soft and tender, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good, Killian.”

Killian thinks he’ll never get over how much he loves hearing her say his name like this, or any other way, truthfully. After so long being _Hook_ to everyone he met, in both title and deed, the way his true name sounds in her mouth sends a wave of warmth through his whole body. It’s not desire or arousal; no, it’s more akin to the pleasant burn of rum down his throat. And what a miserable pirate he is that his only point of reference for how good things feel is to compare them to rum.

“Good, good,” she praises a bit more, and he revels in it, “Nice and slow, that’s it.”

With the calming of his body comes the calming of his mind, his thoughts sorting themselves into a functional order and-

“Swan, did you threaten to slap me?” Killian asks, going for dramatically offended but his voice is still weak and trembly. He hopes his face expression conveys his teasing.

It must, because Emma laughs then, a slightly unhinged version of it, testament to how shaken she too is, and Killian feels a rush of guilt for scaring her like this.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t… I saw it in a movie once. It’s supposed to snap you out of it, either that or a kiss. But I don’t know if it would work.”

“A kiss? Well, I’d not make an objection to _that_ method. Perhaps you could even show me right now, just how you intended to kiss me in such a way that I would _snap out of it_ …?”

Slipping back into the easy, flirtatious banter feels good. Normal. Safe. His head rested on Emma’s legs, her hands on his skin, and now the attack has passed he can hear the water lapping against the hull and occasional soft creak-groan of his ship as the ocean moves her gently. But exhaustion seizes him now, abrupt and all-encompassing like every other time, and his head rolls further against Emma’s palm as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Whoa, are you okay?” she asks, startled at his sudden change in demeanour.

“Aye,” Killian says but he can’t quite gather the strength to move, “Tired. S’normal. I just need to sleep it off.”

“ _Normal_? Killian, has this happened before?”

She sounds angry and he slowly tilts his chin up a little so he can see her. She _looks_ angry too but he can’t fathom _why._

“Not for a long time, love,” he assures her.

“A long time? Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses, “Weeks? A month?”

He can feel the weariness in his very bones. His eyes are closing against his will.

“Centuries, Emma.”

“Oh,” she whispers after a moment.

Then her hands are holding him a little tighter as she moves them through space in an instant, and the sounds of the harbour are replaced with the soft growling of a heater and what’s probably Henry rummaging around downstairs. He’s back home. He blinks slowly and takes in their bedroom, warm and cosy and Emma’s still holding him.

“Can you stand?” she asks, “The bed’s right here.”

“Aye. Can you-”

She knows what he’s asking before he asks it, carefully helping him to his feet and bracing him through the dizziness at the change of altitude. He collapses facedown onto the bed once his body allows him movement again, fully clothed but he isn’t intending to move again for quite a time.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” Emma asks.

Killian nods, eyes already shut again.

“Jacket too?”

“Whatever you desire, love,” he mumbles against the pillow.

She snort-laughs, and he allows her to wrangle his limbs through the removal of his jacket and his boots, and then his waistcoat as well and finally his hook. He’s too weary. He feels as though he could sleep for an eternity.

* * *

He wakes feeling terrible and it’s dark outside, his mind foggy and his mouth stuffed with cotton. The sensation is so strong that he must work his tongue around his teeth just to be certain there’s actually nothing in there. He probably should have had a drink before passing out. Ah, but it’s too late for that now. He’s just gathering his strength to go in search of water when-

“Killian? Do you want some water?” Henry’s walked into the room holding a bowl of… soup? Potentially. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

Killian doubts his ability to speak with his mouth as dry as it is, so he just nods, and Henry grabs the cup of water from the bedside table – how had Killian not noticed that? His mind is still a little foggy, it seems. He sits up slowly and gratefully takes the cup that Henry gives him. The water feels wonderful, cool and fresh, and his thirst is only barely slaked once he’s downed all of it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Henry asks, “We made soup. But my grandparents are here for dinner, so… Do you want to come downstairs? Or you can eat up here if you want to.”

The weariness has somehow now morphed into a full-body ache, despite the hours of sleep he’s just had, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good company in this state. He says the last part of his thoughts to Henry, who nods in understanding and sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Henry,” Killian says with a grateful smile.

“Ok.”

Henry smiles back before leaving the room. Killian hears him taking the stairs two at a time, and Emma half-heartedly admonishing him for it. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes a mouthful of the perfect soup, gently spicy and warming him all the way to his toes. Emma obviously had some help with the cooking tonight – she’s good, but not _this_ good. He must remember to thank Snow White later.

Archie had called her, Emma tells him when she comes up to their bedroom after Snow and David have left. That’s why she’d called Killian when she had, checking to see if he was alright.

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, her fingers absently brushing through Killian’s hair as she sat on the bed next to him, “He said you left his office in a hurry and he was a bit worried about you.”

He remembers back in the hospital when he’d woken, disoriented and panicked, and she’d used this same method to calm him, gentle pressure and the tiniest scrape of her nails against his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair. It had been comforting then and it was comforting now. After his meal, Killian had gathered the strength to ready himself for bed properly, but that small amount of energy is depleted again now. And if Emma’s not careful, he’ll go right back to sleep before this conversation is over, his belly comfortably full and his tired muscles coaxed into relaxation by her affections. He tries to rouse himself a little more. It’s not really working.

“He’s… that was good of him, I suppose,” he says, voice rough with the sleep he so desperately wants more of, “It’s just… My mind got a bit… stormy. It does that from time to time, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state.”

He can’t help the hint of loathing in his voice. Now that Killian’s had some time to think on the events of the day, he’s rather mortified that Emma had witnessed his moment of vulnerability. It would have been better if she hadn’t shown up, then it’s likely Killian would have blacked in his quarters and woken sometime later, once his mind had settled. It had happened that way before. And then nobody would have known how pathetic he really is.

“Did you tell him what happened?” he asks, trying to keep his mind on the present.

Emma’s fingers in his hair are helping to anchor him here, though they’ve stopped moving, just settling amongst the dark strands instead.

“Yeah. Was that… was that okay?”

_No._

“Aye.” He’s lying through his teeth and Emma can probably tell. “I suppose he should know.”

“He wasn’t really surprised to hear about it, anyway. He said you guys went into some pretty dark topics today.”

Killian’s breath hitches, and his hand curls reflexively into a fist.

“Is that all he said?” he asks carefully, and he looks intently at her for any sign she’s not being honest with her answer.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Killian. I’m not going to hear any details from him, and I wouldn’t ask anyway. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that, you know.”

Of course. He _does_ know, logically, that Archie would never share with anyone what Killian tells him about those two weeks in captivity, not even Emma. And he knows Emma would never ask Archie to do so either. But still, Killian can’t help that little thrum of fear in his heart.

“But if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of it, I’m willing to listen,” Emma says quietly.

Killian’s mind cries _yes_ and _gods no_ in equal parts. The two sides of him wage a brief but intense battle on the other, one wanting to open up to this beautiful woman who cares so deeply about him, but the other part wanting to hide away all the hurt in some dark corner of his soul.

“Perhaps one day,” he compromises, “But it wasn’t… I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, love. It’s bad enough having them in my own.”

“I’m the one that found you in the cellar, remember? I know what they did to you.”

Killian swallows, hard.

“It’s one thing to see the aftermath of that sort of situation, Emma. Quite another to hear the details of _how_ it was done.”

She nods once.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

They don’t talk for a long moment, but the silence is far more tranquil than any sort of awkward. Emma resumes her soothing motions through his hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp. His hair has got to be sticking up all over the place by this point and he knows it’ll take more than a little combing in the morning to get it tamed again. Killian’s just about to drift off to sleep when Emma finally speaks again.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Killian mutters, his words coming out a little slurred, “But I wouldn’t mind having you under the covers.”

Emma chuckles, her cheeks getting a bit pinker. Oops.

“To _sleep_ , Emma,” Killian specifies quickly, because he’s definitely inadvertently dropped a potential innuendo in _having you,_ but he is bloody _exhausted_ and he really didn’t mean it that way, for once, “But I can _have you_ the other way in the morning, if you like.”

“Sure,” she says with a grin, “Let me get ready for bed and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He loses his fight to stay awake while she’s brushing her teeth and slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He wakes with the sun, like he so often does, and feeling much improved, with Emma sleeping pressed against his side and her arm across his chest like she’s trying to hold him in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also chapter count has gone up because these guys need a fluffy epilogue after everything they went through haha)


	9. Road Trip + Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oof this chapter got away from me a bit lol For the prompts “road trip” and “campfire.” I strayed back into whumpy territory a little in this one, as Killian talks about some of his trauma, but he does get comfort in the present time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: a bit of smut (I probably don’t have to warn for that since this story is already M rated but it’s there, so) (also it’s my very first attempt at smut and I’ve rewritten that scene only like a bazillion times haha but I’m still so nervous to post it, I just hope you guys don’t hate it)

It had been Archie’s idea for Emma and Killian to get away for a while. Go down the coast, he’d said, find yourself. Reconnect with each other. Killian didn’t know how camping was supposed to help with any of that. But Emma had seemed excited about the prospect when he’d mentioned it to her, and he never could deny her wishes so here they were, sitting on a log in a forest in the middle of nowhere, where Killian could hear the ocean but not see it through the trees. The campfire crackles and pops and the heat against his front is a sharp contrast to the chill at his back, and perhaps they hadn’t thought this through very well because even through his layers Killian can still feel the cold now that the sun has gone down _._ Although it has been unseasonably warm lately, the night air still carries quite a bite. Emma’s tucked into his right side, a blanket around her shoulders. She seems happy despite the cold, her stomach full of the fish they’d caught from the sea earlier that day, and the ‘marshmallows’ she’d insisted on bringing along – yet another sticky, sugary treat Killian couldn’t quite stomach. He’d tried two, toasted over the fire until they were gooey on the inside, but they sat uncomfortably in his gut and he left the rest for Emma. He’s not sure if it was the problem was the marshmallows, or the fact that his anxiety is rising again just from being in a forest. Spending centuries on a jungle island, at the whim of a malicious demon, had ruined it for him. On a good day, he could shove it down, bury it deep where all his other vulnerabilities lived. But today is not a good day.

“What are you thinking about, Killian?” Emma asks, and he supposes he has been quiet for too long.

“Just… things.”

“Good things?”

He wishes.

“No.”

“Oh.”

She’s got her fingers on his chest, toying absently with the hairs at the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He wonders if she’ll ask for more of him. He wonders if he can give it this time. He thinks about her body pressed against his and her gentle hands removing his clothes, and _maybe_ he wants to try it again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asks.

Her unexpected question forces an alteration of Killian’s thoughts that is abrupt and unpleasant. Because that’s why they’re really out here, isn’t it? To talk about _things_. Reconnect _,_ whatever the hell that meant. He doesn’t want to do this. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to dip his toes back into those memories. It’s bad enough he has to bare his soul for the cricket on a regular basis.

“I…”

Where does he start? How can he tell her the true horrors he endured in the cellar? And does she even want to hear it – how they’d seemingly delighted in every strangled groan and grunt he couldn’t hold back under the torture, and how they’d laughed when they finally forced a scream from him? That his only comfort was the hallucination of her, kneeling at his side in the cell telling him everything would be okay as he struggled to breathe around the pain consuming his body? Bloody hell, he’s shaking again at the thought of saying any of that to her.

“We don’t have to do this,” Emma says, giving him a way out that he desperately wants to use.

But Killian Jones is not a coward.

“No, it’s… I can…”

“Breathe, Killian,” she coaches, sitting up straighter and her hand moves up to cradle his face, “Breathe. You’re okay.”

He takes a breath. And another. And slowly the tendrils of panic release him.

“I saw you there,” he blurts out before his mind can talk him out of it again, “In the cell with me. You brought me comfort amongst the torment…”

_“Killian, you have to be still. Just be still. It’ll only hurt more if you move.”_

_He blinks drowsily at her standing beside him, her hands gentle on his battered body as he hangs from the shackle. Perhaps he should listen to her advice. The pain of fighting to keep his feet under him is making it harder to breathe. Harder to think. And he needs to think. But…_

_“Emma, how are you here?” he gasps, and his eyes fill with tears of relief._

_Her hand caresses his face as she smiles, and he wants to weep from how good it feels. Her love. Her kindness. How long has it been since anyone has touched him in such a way? How long has he been shackled in this cold cell?_

_“It’s okay,” she says with so much tenderness, “Everything’s going to be okay now. Go to sleep, Killian.”_

_His eyes flutter closed. He’s so cold. He’s so tired. Everything hurts but it’s okay because Emma’s here._

“That’s why you didn’t know if I was real,” Emma says quietly, “when we found you. I thought… I thought I’d lost you. That they’d….”

She’s pressed tightly against his side again as he hesitantly shares the story with her.

“I was so scared, Killian.”

“Aye, love. Me too.”

He hadn’t meant to admit that, but he _had_ been terrified. He’d kept it hidden from his captors as best he could but by the end, he knew he was failing. There’s only so much a man can take. And they’d known that, finding his weaknesses and pushing him past his breaking point. For two weeks, he suffered at their hands.

_“Focus on your breathing, Killian,” Emma says softly._

_He’s shivering, naked against the cold floor, exhausted from the pain yet unable to sleep because of it. His ruined hand feels so unbearably hot that he envisions it may well burst into flames, every involuntary twitch of his broken fingers sending a blazing agony up his arm. And further down his body there’s still the terrible, terrible burning sensation from his captor’s latest game._

_“I d-don’t want you to s-see me like this, Emma,” he whispers through chattering teeth, his eyes squeezed shut._

_“It’s okay. You know I’m not really here.”_

_The reminder that he is alone is too much. It’s like a wave of emotion cresting, and crashing into him with immense force, making him want to howl his rage and despair until his lungs are empty. But he only allows a whimper. He won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how utterly broken he is._

_“Just breathe,” not-Emma murmurs, her imaginary fingers on his face close enough to the real thing that Killian feels himself melting into her touch, “Just keep breathing, Killian.”_

“It felt so real. I know it wasn’t, but… you helped me to stay sane. I would have lost myself if it weren’t for the image of you at my side.”

The fire is burning low now and the loss of its heat is making him shiver. Emma moves the blanket so it’s resting over both of them, and her hand settles on his left forearm as she burrows closer into his right side, like she can cuddle the fear right out of him. He appreciates the gesture, struggling with the mental distress of releasing the memories from that box in his mind. Of admitting his fears to Emma. And he has barely touched on what they _did_ to him in that cellar. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to, not to Emma.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you,” Emma says.

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s _not_. We were nearly… we were nearly too _late_ , Killian, you were…”

“Almost gone,” he whispers, staring blankly into the campfire.

_When he swallows, he can taste blood, having bitten either his tongue or his lip – he doesn’t know which one – trying to hold back his cries during his last torture session. It hadn’t even helped, not for long enough. His strength is entirely depleted. The pain throughout his body has faded to a dull, miserable sort of ache, that he’s grateful for because it’s better than the fire that had consumed him before. And he realizes distantly that this is it, this is the end. It’s not how he thought he’d go – and he’s thought about it a lot over his too many lifetimes. A quiet, distraught sound escapes his parched throat at the thought that Emma will be too late to save him. He’s not afraid to die, his heart doesn’t ache for himself but for_ her, _how terrible it will be for Emma to find his corpse. How long will it take? But wait, here’s Emma now, her hand gently rubbing at his curved back as he lies there helpless._

_“Emma?” His lips move, but he doesn’t think he’s actually spoken aloud._

_He doesn’t seem to have the strength for that anymore, but that doesn’t matter. Emma presses her lips against the back of his bare shoulder. He can feel her hair tickling his skin._

_“Ssshhh,” she shushes him, “I’m here.”_

_But she’s not really, he knows that. It’s just his mind playing a trick on him again. But he might as well take the comfort it seems willing to provide in his final hours._

_“Hold me, Emma. Please, I want to feel your embrace as I go.”_

_Not-Emma’s arms slip under him, lifting him effortlessly into her embrace. The motion hurts in a way in shouldn’t because this isn’t real, but he moans weakly anyway._

_“It’s okay, Killian. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”_

_It’s hard to breathe, but he knows that won’t matter for much longer. Emma’s fingers move lightly over his cheek, across his jawline, caressing his face as she holds him steady. He feels like he’s floating now, only her touch keeping him from disappearing into nothing. Killian feels immensely grateful for her comfort. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, content to imagine how she looks, the smile on her face, the kindness in her eyes. The love she has for him is flowing into his body, easing his suffering in his final moments. But his captors come back for him, one more time and he just wants this to be over._

_“Just bloody finish it,” he says, and he can tell he’s said it aloud this time by how feeble his voice sounds._

_He floats away again and he doesn’t want to come down, but they pull him back, holding his right arm too tightly and he can’t take any more of this, can’t take the pain that he knows is going to overwhelm him in a moment when they aggravate his broken fingers again just for the fun of it. He shakes and writhes and implores for them to stop and he promised himself, he promised_ Emma _they could not break him, but they have. By the gods, they have. But not-Emma is still here somehow, and her touch feels more real than it ever has. She’s never been there during his tortures, only afterwards in his cage, and Killian struggles to focus on her. She looks scared this time and Killian doesn’t like it. He wants desperately to let go, to escape this torment, but she looks so sad he can’t bear to leave her like this. But his body is giving up and he has no choice._

_“I’m so sorry, Emma.”_

_Slowly, the world begins to disappear again. And not-Emma says she’s real now, and he almost believes it. He_ wants _to believe it, that she has really found him, even if she’s come too late to save him. She tells him just to rest, her fingers curled tightly around his shoulder, soothing and steadying. Her permission is all he needs. Killian finally submits to the void that’s been beckoning to him so enticingly, and he doesn’t expect to wake up again._

Emma’s sniffling jolts Killian out of the morbid tale he was telling, his voice monotonous as he tried to distance himself from the event, and he realizes he’s lost some time by the way the fire is only embers now.

“Emma? What’s wrong, love?” he asks with concern, giving his head a quick shake to remove what feels like cobwebs out of his brain.

“S-sorry,” she says weakly, her voice quivering, “I just… I didn’t know how close it actually was. Another few hours and… _God_ , Killian.”

Oh. _Oh._

“No, _I’m_ sorry, truly. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

He tries to twist away slightly so he can see her face, but she’s holding onto him too tightly. And she’s weeping freely now, sobbing into his shirt. Curse the cricket for this suggestion, it’s only made things worse. And curse Killian too for going along with it.

“Hey, it’s okay, Emma. I’m with you. It’s okay.”

He repeats her own words back to her, the words she’s used for him so frequently of late, when he wakes panicked in the night or finds himself suddenly unable to catch his breath as the memories cloud his mind. His hand rubs at Emma’s back, trying to soothe her, and he wishes, gods, he _wishes_ he had a second hand with which to wipe her tears away. Though he can’t move his left arm at all right now anyway, because she’s clinging onto it like she’ll float away if she doesn’t.

“Sshhh, love, be calm,” he continues, slipping in his own phrases now, folding himself around her as much as he’s able, sheltering her as she falls apart, “We’re okay now. We’re okay. Just breathe, there’s a good girl. Shh, it’s going to be alright, Emma.”

Slowly her body begins to relax in his arms, and after a while she takes a shuddering breath and sits up to scrub away her tears, and grabs a handkerchief from her pocket to blow her nose. Killian pulls the flask of rum from his pocket and pushes it gently into her trembling hands when she’s done.

“Drink up, Swan, and I’ll tend the fire.”

He needs a moment to calm himself as well and placing some more logs on the fire is a perfect excuse to get him the space he needs, and a simple task to ground himself firmly in the present. Emma stares at the flask in her hand with red-rimmed eyes as Killian carefully tends the fire, expertly poking at and blowing on the embers around the new wood he’s placed on it, until it flares back to life, driving away the chill.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Emma says with a little, self-deprecating sort of laugh, “I’m supposed to be strong, for you. Because I’m fine, you’re the one that was…”

_Tortured._

“Hey now, none of that,” Killian says firmly, dropping to one knee in front of her so he can lift her chin and look into her eyes, “You _are_ strong, love, far stronger than I would be in your place. You figured out where I was and you _saved_ me, Emma.”

He takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of it while never breaking eye contact, his lips lingering on her skin as he makes certain she can see in his face how much he means what he’s saying.

“You saved me,” he repeats softly when he finally lifts his mouth again, “I owe you everything. You’re not a mess, Emma, you’re a bloody hero.”

She smiles, hesitant at first but growing wider and then she puts the unopened flask aside in favour of leaning forward to kiss him. He meets her halfway, surging upwards with a bit too much force that accidentally sends Emma toppling backwards off the log with a yelp and Killian falling with her, frantically trying to break their fall without hurting her. He must manage it, because when they make eye contact in this compromising position, Emma’s giggling and Killian can’t help the sound bubbling up his throat too because he’s experienced far too many emotions in such a sort time tonight and he’s feeling a little giddy.

“Sorry, love,” he says, trying to suppress his undignified giggling, “That was…”

But now he’s acutely aware of how close they are, how her hands are clinging to him, and how her thigh is conveniently pressing between his legs. His glee abates as it’s replaced by another feeling – he really, _really_ wants to kiss her again, and deeper this time. And he can barely keep up with all these sensations and he doesn’t even _care_ at this point, his head feeling a little dizzy at the intoxicating nearness of Emma, of her scent and her touch. He wonders if – he _hopes_ – that Emma can feel the heat between them too.

“I’m fine, Killian, it’s fine. Are you-” 

He gives in to his body’s urges despite his reservations and swallows the rest of her question, his lips capturing hers and his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, and she immediately responds in kind, almost hungrier for it than he is. _Thank the gods,_ Killian thinks, because if she hadn’t been in the mood, he would have felt stupid, though he most likely could _get_ her into the mood without much effort. The passion between them builds even higher and Killian is desperate for _more._ He presumes his eyes possess the same dazed look that Emma’s do as they both take a moment to catch their breath.

“Emma, may I…” Emma waits patiently while he finds the words, find the courage to say what he wants, her hand stilling against his chest. “I want to… I want to make love to you.”

Emma laughs a little, like she always does when he uses that phrase ( _nobody calls it that anymore, Killian_ but he’s not quite comfortable using a more vulgar term, not to Emma, she’s too perfect and too good and it would be very bad form to say anything like _that_ in her hearing) but she also blushes slightly, and he can see she’s just as eager for it as he is.

“Okay.”

With a wave of her hand, Emma extinguishes the campfire, and then they can hardly keep their hands off each other as they move to the privacy of their tent. The moment they are inside Killian is overcome with the burning desire to touch more of her skin _right now_.

“Less clothes,” Killian demands, and Emma grins, pulling her lower lip between her teeth before she starts taking her layers off.

She doesn’t ask him to take his own off, sticking to her promise that she won’t push him, but he wants to. He wants this. He’s tired of being a coward. His fingers hurry to remove his own clothing _(and he’s never been more thankful to have the use of those five fingers again than at this precise moment)_ , and in a moment Emma is more or less naked in front of him and he’s in a similar state, at least from the waist up _._ Now his mouth can explore her newly exposed flesh and he delights in the sounds he can pull from her by doing so. Emma’s hand rests against the back of his head, the other bracing herself, leaning back as he takes what he wants. It’s a slow and tender sort of lovemaking; hands drifting slowly across skin, mouths savouring the taste of the other, hushed words of reverent appreciation, and this is exactly what Killian needs. They take their time, neither in a hurry to go further yet, just enjoying getting lost in the sensations.

“Emma.” Killian is the one to break away, feeling the urgency, the _need_ , beginning to override his uncertainties about what he intends to do.

“What is it?”

Killian’s looking up at Emma’s flushed face as he leans back on his elbows on the mattress, her lips slightly swollen from his earlier attentions, her hair a gloriously wild tangle and the colour bright in her cheeks. He’s taken off the brace and hook because they’re in such tight quarters right now, there’s a high chance his hook would rip the side of their shelter when they really get into it, and it would only take a moment of inattention, the briefest impulse to anchor himself to something, and the flimsy material would be rent right open. He doesn’t need one more thing to be concerned about tonight. Not with what he is about to do. Killian hesitates for a second before he grabs Emma’s hand in his and guides it to his belt buckle – his jeans the only thing he’s still wearing besides his socks and his rings and the charms around his neck.

“Are you sure?” Emma asks, her fingers curling into the waistband at the front of his jeans.

“Yes,” he murmurs, quickly, before he can lose his nerve again, “just… just go slow.”

Her eyes flick back up to his several times, checking on his wellbeing as she slowly releases him from the confines of his trousers. He can feel the memories clawing at the edge of his mind, but he keeps watching her, focuses on the feel of her soft fingers brushing against his skin as he lifts his hips and allows her to tug his jeans down and off. Then it’s over and now Emma’s moving back up his body, taking his face in her hands and gazing into his eyes.

“Still with me?” she asks quietly.

There’s no denying that his body is responding to their activities, but Emma just wants to be certain his mind is on board with it as well, after how badly he reacted last time. She’s good like that.

“Aye, keep going, love.”

And then her hand slips down and _there_ , bloody _finally_. Killian allows himself to get lost in the sensations for a glorious interval. Emma could easily get him off just like this, she’s done it before, her talented hands and her mouth – oh gods, her _mouth,_ a shudder runs through him at the thought – and he’s strongly tempted to allow her to continue, if he didn’t have another plan for tonight. He needs… He _needs._

“Wait,” Killian chokes out, and she stops immediately, looking at him with concern.

“What’s wrong? Is this too much?”

“No. I mean, yes, but… Not for the reasons you think.” He breathes deeply, gathers his wits, and his fortitude. “I don’t want to finish like this, Emma, I want… I want _you._ I want to be… inside you.”

He’s seconds away from adding a pathetic _please_ because she’s so close to him, but not close enough and his skin is tingling with desire. But before he has to, Emma leans forward and her mouth claims his again, scorching and demanding and keeping him firmly rooted in the present time. When she pulls back, his head spinning a little from how hard she’s kissed him, she slips her arm behind him – _sit up, Killian, I want to hold you –_ and he follows her guidance willingly until he’s sitting on the edge of their camping bed, his heart pounding against his ribs because he knows, _he knows_ how good she will make him feel. Then she’s on him and around him, astride his thighs as she settles onto him. His hand finds its way to the swell of her bare arse, drawing her down, coaxing her to take him in further.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, and there’s a shameless moan from the back of his throat as she wraps her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, “ _Gods_ , you feel so bloody good, Emma.” Because Emma loves it when he tells her how much he’s appreciating what she’s doing to him – and bloody hell, he _is_ appreciating it. A lot. And she’s barely done anything yet.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Emma says quietly, her hot breath against his ear sending a shiver of eager anticipation down his spine, “Tell me if you need me to stop, at any time and I will. Okay?”

Killian nods his assent, and slowly she begins to move, murmurs words of praise to him as her fingers bury themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand slipping behind his back to hold him close. This position is soft and intimate and _wonderful_ as all his senses become completely immersed in everything _Emma_. There’s no room for any other feeling, or any other thought. She’s holding onto him as she sets the pace and he’s kissing whatever part of her he can reach, using lips and tongue and teeth the way she likes it and she tastes amazing and he can’t get enough and gods, she is going to drive him _insane_. He enjoys it rough, sometimes – most times – and Emma always obliges, but tonight she takes him gently, lovingly, carefully, all soft phrases and leisurely movements. And it’s exactly what Killian needs, his fears falling away, this tender coupling the complete opposite to the last time he was at someone’s mercy. And as well as he knows her to work her up, Emma knows how to do the same to him, and despite the slowness of it all Killian finds himself teetering on that edge far quicker than he’d expected _._ Emma’s quiet moans and gasps as she rides him lets him know she’s not far behind, and he desperately hopes she’s close enough that he won’t leave her unsatisfied.

“Emma… gods, Emma, I’m…” Killian groans, long and loud in the quiet of the forest, his jaw tight as he struggles to keep himself in check. “I’m going to…”

“It’s okay,” she says, strained and tremulous and breathless and still continuing the same steady, relentless pace, “It’s okay. Come for me, Killian.”

“You first, darling,” Killian grits out because damn it, he’s a gentleman.

But he’s too close, he can feel it, he’s not going to be able to hold out. His rhythm is beginning to stutter and he’s losing control. He is _wrecked_ , his endurance is usually better than this and he has to take a moment to breathe, his forehead falling forwards onto Emma’s shoulder. Thankfully Emma seems to take pity on him, for she pauses her motion while he collects himself. Only a moment, but it’s enough. He can tell she’s close, if he could just-

“Right there, yes, oh _god_ Killian,” Emma gasps, pulling harder at his hair, her fingernails scratching lightly against his back, “Don’t stop, please, _please,_ Killian, I’m so close.”

His response is a growl, primal and desperate, her almost frenzied pleas sending him past the point of no return. He has no intention of stopping. Another panted _yes_ and _god_ and then she’s clenching tight around him, his actions bringing her to her peak and his name tumbles from her lips as she shatters and it’s too much and it’s perfect and – and – and he’s there and nothing else matters as they both fall apart.

* * *

_No, actually they were ‘coming together’ in every sense of the phrase_ , is the first thought Killian’s brain has when he’s able to think anything at all again and he snickers into the juncture of Emma’s neck and shoulder as she remains in his arms, equally as blissed out as he is.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, still out of breath, and Killian’s hand slides up the smooth curve of her back.

“Just thinking.”

He lifts his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply, slowly, pouring all his devotion and gratitude into it, only stopping because he wants to be _certain_ Emma knows how much she means to him.

“Emma, you’re a marvel and I love you.”

“Right back at you,” she says, smiling, sparkling eyes even in the dimness of their shelter, a bit of a flush to her cheeks, “That… that was okay, then?”

She looks unsure now, like she’s pushed him further than he was ready for, like she’s broken her promise, and this was what Killian was concerned about – Emma’s insecurities coming to the forefront. He wants those doubts banished from her mind immediately. He brushes some of her wayward hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her skin, thumb drawing a path along her jawline on the way back.

“It was perfect, love,” he assures her, “ _You_ were perfect. You gave me everything I asked for. And… I hope my _performance_ was satisfactory as well?”

A smirk punctuates his salacious question, a little lift of his left eyebrow and there, the uncertainty is gone from Emma’s face like it never existed, replaced with a rather coy smile that Killian much prefers.

“Very.”

They move, eventually, lying down side by side on the mattress and they remain like that, sharing gentle affections and whispered adoration, for quite some time, until the mood gradually changes to something needy once more. Killian moves over the top of her and smiles wickedly, enjoying the way Emma’s breathing has quickened already before he’s even begun, because now it’s his turn to be in control, and she knows very well what his intentions are. It’s time to repay his beautiful Swan for the pleasure she bestowed upon him.

_**To be continued...** _


	10. Hugs + Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluffy comfort for the prompts “hugs” and “kisses.” Short and (hopefully) sweet!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: brief and vague mention of rape (though I assume if you're still reading this story you don't mind that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost at the end of this story, just a quick epilogue to go. I can’t believe it! Thank you, all my lovely readers, for giving my little story so much support!

After their wonderful time together in the forest, the complete bliss and contentment Killian felt while cuddling with Emma under the blankets lingers for some time. He makes the most of his rediscovered confidence with her at night, making love until they are both exhausted and sated ( _and gods he missed this; the feel of her around him, the expression on her face when he begins to thrust into her, and the way she can take him apart and put him back together so easily, leaving him worn out and absolutely satisfied_ ). And Killian assumes – he _hopes_ – that his mind has finally given up on tormenting him with the memories of his torture. Perhaps he’s even cured of that PTSD thing. He’s certainly less jumpy now, less prone to startling and he hasn’t had a nightmare in a while. His broken hand has healed – Stacy’s not-so-gentle methods have helped return the strength to it, so Killian is able to spend some more time on the Jolly Roger with Henry, properly preparing the ship for a much-needed day out on the water.

“A family outing?” Emma asks with a smile.

Killian’s heart soars and his stomach does a strange sort of flip at her casual use of the word _family_ in this context _._ He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“Aye, we’ll take her out far enough that it’s just us and the sea,” he says.

Henry is practically bouncing up and down in excitement as they make their plans. It’s been too long since they’ve done this. Emma checks the weather forecast and they schedule a sailing day. Killian tries to conceal the fact that he’s just as excited about it as Henry is, but the way Emma’s smirking at him in that way makes him think he’s not doing a good job of doing so. So he gives up on hiding it at all. It doesn’t matter anyway, because they both already know how much he loves sailing his ship. There’s just something about being on the water that is both exhilarating and calming. And to be out there with Emma and Henry? Even better.

* * *

A few nights before their planned outing, Killian’s nightmares return. And it’s as bad as ever. He’s not sure what triggered it, but it’s nasty combination of what was and what could have been, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s dreaming but he can’t seem to wake up. He tries to call out to Emma so she can help him. The words stick in his throat. He can’t move. His captor has Pan’s face, which seems _wrong_ because Killian knows this setting isn’t Neverland, but he doesn’t have time to contemplate that because Pan is grinning evilly and pushing him back against the wall, and Killian _knows_ what will happen next.

“This isn’t real,” Killian tells himself, desperately trying to wake up. His voice trembles and breaks.

“Are you sure about that, Killian?” asks Pan, his childlike voice sickeningly sweet in Killian’s ear, too close, _too much_ , “Does this not _feel_ real to you?”

Killian’s breath catches in barely concealed dread, gooseflesh breaking out across his skin at Pan’s unwanted touch. And it does feel real, terribly so, and Killian wants to fight, wants to resist, wants to _wake the hell up_ , but his limbs stubbornly ignore his commands. He squeezes his eyes closed tight instead and braces himself for what’s coming, but then Pan is Rumpelstiltskin, and Killian’s on the Jolly Roger, lashed to the mast with ropes that are squeezing the breath from his lungs. The crocodile cackles at him, holding Killian’s heart in his hand.

“No,” Killian whispers, “Please.”

“Reduced to begging so soon, Captain? I thought you were stronger than that.” His hand tightens around Killian’s heart, the agony of it blacking out everything but the crocodile’s next taunt. “But it seems you are a coward after all.”

When the pain in his chest abates Killian finds himself back in the cellar, bent over a table, trying to support himself on his elbows because his hook is gone and his hand is broken and everything hurts and his captors are laughing and he can barely keep his feet from the rough thrusts of the man behind him. Tears roll down Killian’s cheeks but that’s wrong, he didn’t cry, he _wouldn’t_ …

_Killian, wake up._

The fingers on his skin feel different suddenly, skittering light and gentle across his forehead and dragging a little heavier across his chest and now that is _real._ Movement returns to his frozen limbs in a rush. And then he’s falling, and the landing is hard, rattling his bones, and he’s nearly choking on his own breaths in his panic as his stomach strongly suggests it might like to purge itself. He’s shaking violently, his skin crawling, and it’s so bloody dark he can’t orient himself.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m- Damn it. Killian, are you okay?” _Emma._

At least he assumes it’s Emma, and not another trick of his mind. He is awake now, right? Emma switches on the light while Killian’s swallowing against the nausea between his ragged gasps, knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself, rocking slowly back and forth, trying to calm down – the way his body is trembling, he doubts he has the strength to get to the bathroom in time if his gut really rebels. The sudden brightness burns his eyes but he doesn’t dare close them lest he find himself back in the dreamscape.

“Hey, it’s okay, Killian, you’re safe,” Emma says, and she slowly kneels on the bedroom floor in front of him and doesn’t touch him, “I’m right here.”

“S-swan.” He meant _sorry,_ but her name is apparently the only word he’s capable of saying right now.

He forces himself to reach out and lay his hand on her arm, just to reassure himself that he’s actually awake. That she’s really here. That he’s not alone.

“I’m here,” she repeats, “Let me help you, Killian.”

She always moves slowly when he’s like this, waits for his permission to touch, always careful not to startle him and scared she’ll make things worse. But Killian’s teeth chatter when he tries to speak, so he clenches his jaw and nods instead. With careful, deliberate movements Emma shuffles closer and lifts her hands to his cheeks. His face is wet. It seems he had been crying in the real world too.

“That’s it. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She wipes the tears away gently as Killian sniffles and swallows and tries to pull himself together.

“Do we need to move to the bathroom?” she asks softly, knowing him so well.

But thankfully, the rolling of his stomach has begun to settle, and he’s quite certain he will not actually vomit. Not this time. He shakes his head, shifts his legs to a more comfortable position away from his chest and runs his unsteady hand through his hair.

“M-my apologies,” he mumbles, embarrassed by his reaction, “I’m…” He swallows hard. “I didn’t…”

Gathering the correct words and ordering them out of his mouth is a challenge, and he decides to give up on it for the moment. Bloody hell, he is pathetic. It’s been a while since his nightmares were this intense. At least this time it seems he’ll be able to find calm before his panicking turns into an actual attack, his breaths already starting to slow down as Emma moves closer to hug him.

“Shhh. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I w-woke you,” Killian points out.

He’s clinging onto Emma now, curled close against her with his head on her shoulder, and even with how ashamed he feels for this blatant show of weakness, he can’t bring himself to let go. She’s rubbing his back soothingly, cradling his head against her, her embrace comforting him, pushing away the remnants of his dream.

“Yeah, you did,” she says softly, “But it’s okay, I don’t mind. I just wish I’d woken up sooner, really. I tried to wake you up, but I guess I was a bit late. That was a bad one, huh?”

There is no point in lying to her.

“Aye.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. His heart is still beating too fast, his throat dry from his gasping.

“Do you want some water?” Emma asks, as if she can hear his thoughts, “I can just… magic a glass up here. We won’t have to move.”

“That would b-be nice.”

Emma moves one hand off him to use her magic and momentarily she’s holding a glass of water, which she carefully passes to Killian. His hand trembles a little, but he’s able to bring it to his lips and quench his thirst without spilling any.

“Feeling better?”

Killian nods.

“Thank you, love. But perhaps…” He winces at the thought but presses on anyway. “Perhaps I should sleep on the couch for a while. So I don’t disturb your rest again.”

“Absolutely not,” Emma says, a bit severely, though still hushed so she doesn’t wake Henry who is sleeping in his room just down the hall, “I’m not letting you deal with these nightmares on your own.”

Killian pretends he’s not relieved about that.

“Now, let’s get back into bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

They untangle from each other and climb back into the bed, where Killian immediately pulls Emma close again to keep his anxiety at bay. The light is still on, and that helps too. He hopes Emma won’t turn it off yet.

“You okay?” she murmurs, settling with her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

“I just…” Killian sighs deeply, his frustration coming to the forefront now that he’s less frightened. “I hate this. I hate that I can’t… I can’t move past it. It’s been _months,_ Emma.”

He doesn’t know why it affected him so much – Archie said it’s likely a culmination of the burden of unresolved trauma he’s been through in the past, this most recent simply one too much for his mind to handle. And that’s also why his nightmares often included such old events along with the new. Pan and Rumpelstiltskin featured tonight, but sometimes Hades makes an appearance, mutilating him with his own hook and threatening to drop him in that accursed river.

“You _are_ doing better though. This is the first time you’ve had a nightmare in a while. And the flashbacks aren’t happening very often anymore either, are they?”

“No, they’re not. But it’s not good enough,” Killian says bitterly, and the disgust he feels for his continued cowardice is so strong it could drown him. _I’m not good enough._

He should be the one protecting Emma, comforting her, not the other way around all the bloody time. He’s so tired of it. He can feel himself retreating, if not physically then at least in his mind, the terrible weight of _not good enough_ pulling him down, down, down…

“Hey, stop it.” Emma props herself on her elbow so she can plant the softest of kisses on the furrow between his brows, pulling him back to himself and to her. “You’re _healing_. It’s a process.”

His hand may be healed now, only the scars remaining that will fade even further with time, but at times like this Killian fears his mind may be beyond repair, despite the assurances from both Emma and from Archie that he’s _healing._ But Emma continues to pull him out of his morbid thoughts, kissing the scar on his cheek next.

“I never want you to think you aren’t good enough, Killian,” because _of course_ she heard the true meaning behind his words, and there’s a feather-light kiss for a faint line of scarring on his shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips parting on a quiet gasp, “You’ve been through…” Emma’s lips find another old injury. “… _so much_. You just need some time.”

Killian thinks this would probably be arousing if it wasn’t so soothing _._ He can _feel_ how much love she has for him – she’s pouring it into every touch, every word, every press of her lips. Perhaps she’s using a little of her magic to do it, or perhaps it’s simply because he’s still fragile from his nightmare, but the sensation is powerful and wonderful, his very nerves seeming to hum happily under his skin in response.

“Emma.” It’s little more than a helpless whimper. Desperate. Though for what, he can’t be certain. It’s not that he wants her to stop. “What are you doing to me?”

“Loving you,” Emma says, in a voice that means he has no choice but to lie back and take it, “Now sshh, I’m not finished.” She curls her fingers gently but firmly around his bicep, anchoring him in place.

She’s slowly kissing a path across the scars on his body between sentences, the knots and lines and hollows that map out a lifetime of surviving, _too many lifetimes really_. Her tender affections feel like they’re filling a void inside his soul with warmth and _love_ and it’s almost too much to handle. All he can do is keep his eyes closed and wrap his arm around Emma’s waist as she continues.

“You take all the time you need to heal, and I’ll be with you all the way,” she takes his left arm in her gentle hand, and he knows where she’s going next, “However long this takes. However many bad days, or nights, that you have. You just need to…” Her lips brush against his sensitive inner wrist, just beside the ugly and numb scar tissue that covers the blunted end of it. “…to let me help you. I _love_ you, Killian. Please, don’t pull away from me.”

“I won’t,” his voice breaks, and if she doesn’t stop smothering him with all this kindness soon, he’s going to start crying. Again. “I promise I won’t. Emma, I…”

She moves and takes his right hand from around her waist and softly kisses the scars on his fingers and across the back of his hand, and there’s a feeling of all the broken pieces of him being drawn together, sharp edges smoothed over by Emma’s love and it’s too much. A tear slips from under Killian’s lashes and his breath shudders, his heightened emotions too intense to be contained any longer.

“I love you,” he breathes, looking up to see Emma’s own eyes glassy with tears as well.

“I know.” She smiles down at him, raw and open and honest as her thumb brushes the tear from his face. “And I mean what I said. I’m with you, Killian.”

Her next and final kiss is granted to his lips, and she takes her time there, her palm resting against his cheek while his fingers tangle in her hair, allowing him to reciprocate before she settles down into his arms again, and Killian wants to stay in this moment forever. Comfortable and safe, basking in the wonderful feeling of being so wholly _loved._ How does his Swan always know what he needs?

“What have I done to deserve you, Emma?” he asks once he’s regained control of his emotions.

“What have _I_ done to deserve _you_?” she counters.

He smiles, and lets the silence stretch on, his limbs feeling heavy and his thoughts turning sluggish as sleep pulls him away. It almost claims him, his eyes closed and his breathing even, when the light he could still just barely see behind closed lids suddenly goes out and he startles, eyes flying open as he pulls himself back to reality with a jolt. He’d turned over onto his side in his almost-sleep, and now Emma’s pressed against his back with her arm around his torso, squeezing a little tighter to combat his flinch. She’s switched the light off, he realizes, plunging the room back into darkness.

“Sorry, I thought you’d gone back to sleep,” she whispers, “Is it too dark?” She doesn’t wait for his response. “Hang on a second, I’ve got an idea.”

She moves her hand, a casual flick of her wrist in a way that Killian recognizes – so at ease with using magic these days – and the curtains glide open, letting the nearly full moon cast its light into the room. The tension flows out of him almost instantly, coaxed away by pleasant memories of nights aboard the Jolly Roger with the bright moon shining through the windows of his quarters.

“Better?”

“Aye, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

He can’t find the words to convey just _how_ thankful he is for her, for everything she does for him. He hopes she knows. She probably does. She’s quite perceptive, he thinks with a smile. He closes his eyes again and sleep finds him quickly. When he dreams again, it’s of the sea, and of Emma, and of the moon shining down upon the deck of the Jolly Roger where they’re lying entwined in peaceful respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up early next week. It’s all finished so there’s no point in making you wait a whole week for it!


	11. Epilogue: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffy Captain Cobra Swan epilogue for the prompt “recovery."

The weatherman’s knowledge of the weather so many days in advance is impressive. The conditions are perfect, the sun shining warmly but not too warmly, and enough wind to carry the ship smoothly out to sea with the tide. Exactly as predicted. As promised, Killian takes them out far enough that the sky and the water are all that be seen in any direction, giving instructions to Emma and Henry who are having a bit of a debate over which of them should be titled _first mate_ \- not that either of them really care, of course, it’s just a running joke at this point, the ‘argument’ interspersed with laughter and a lot of quotes and references Killian doesn’t get.

“Alright, calm down,” Killian orders, tossing a grin their way because he doesn’t mean it, “I don’t tolerate fighting amongst my crew.”

He loves hearing them laugh. When he joins them on the main deck for the picnic lunch Emma has brought, his heart feels even lighter. Henry talks almost constantly these days, whether he has food in his mouth or not – much to Emma’s eternal consternation.

“Killian, say something,” she insists, when Killian just keeps snickering about all the crumbs Henry keeps accidentally spitting out, “Tell him that’s bad form or whatever.”

“That’s bad form,” he says obediently, and he refrains from adding the _or whatever_ , though he gives Henry a wink in full view of Emma which makes her roll her eyes.

“You two are just as bad as each other.”

“Sorry, love, in future I shall endeavor to set a better standard for your boy,” Killian says, with a bit more gravity than the situation requires.

Because he means it. He only wants the best for his family. Bloody hell, he’ll never get used to that thought – _Killian’s family._ He has a _family._ He never thought he’d be so lucky. As if she senses the emotional turn of his thoughts, Emma gives his cheek a chaste kiss that makes Henry dramatically cover his eyes with a sound of feigned repulsion, and the situation immediately regains its playful ambiance.

* * *

They spend hours out there on the water, just appreciating the sense of camaraderie and of freedom.

“We should sail away some day,” Henry says, looking almost longingly at the horizon, where sea and sky meet in a barely discernible seam, “For a vacation, you know, spend a few days at sea. Just for fun.”

“Got a taste for the pirate life, have you?” Killian teases.

“Maybe,” he says, a bit shyly, like he’s admitting something big, “I just want to know what it’s like, I guess. Being out there, just sailing around.”

“There’s a lot more to being a pirate than just _sailing around_.” And hell if Killian isn’t thinking of some of those things right now, not all of them pleasant and even less of them suited for Henry’s young ears.

“I _know_ that,” Henry says, a bit of that teenage attitude coming out, “But I don’t think mom would approve of the other pirate stuff.”

They both spare a glance at Emma who is lazing on their picnic blanket on the deck, appreciating the sun. She might even be asleep. Killian feels a bit of guilt, for he suspects she’s tired from helping him deal with his nightmares, though she’d never admit it.

“Aye, that’s probably true. Well, let’s see about getting that vacation organized, shall we?”

* * *

When they finally sail back into Storybrooke’s harbor, the sun is getting quite low and the temperature is dropping. It’s a combined effort to get the Jolly Roger tucked back into her berth, helped along by the ship’s own enchantments as always, and Killian gives her a grateful pat before going ashore.

“She’s a good ship,” Emma says, her hand finding his as they walk along the dock, Henry’s attention firmly on his phone as he wanders ahead of them.

“Aye, that she is.” He can’t help the pride in his voice, both for his ship and for the fact that Emma has remembered to correctly refer to the Jolly as _she._

“Thank you for taking us out. It was a good day.”

“For me as well. Let’s not wait too long before we do it again, alright?”

“Alright.”

She squeezes his hand a little tighter as she smiles at him, the setting sun casting her face in a beautiful light. Gods, he loves her so intensely it almost hurts. There is so much he wants to show her. And Henry as well. So many plans for their future together.

“Yeah, that was awesome,” Henry interjects like he’s almost forgotten to say it, his strides shortening to allow them to catch up, “Thanks, Killian.”

His hug catches Killian by surprise, but it’s just _surprise_ that makes him hesitate, makes him gasp a quiet _oh_ before he returns Henry’s embrace. Some time ago the sudden movement and unexpected touch would have alarmed him, sent his mind racing away into his memories. The way Emma’s hand has come up to rest against his back, bracing him, says she knows it as well. But he’s okay. This is okay.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, “We make quite the sailing crew,” and Henry disengages from the hug, grinning at him.

“I still think I-”

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Emma interrupts with a grin of her own, knowing what Henry is going to say because they’ve been having this mock dispute for weeks, “You can be first mate. But I’m the Pirate King.”

Killian tilts his head a little, eyebrows lifting, feeling rather perplexed at Emma’s comment. It’s probably another modern world reference, he thinks.

“Pirate King? I can’t say I’ve bestowed such a title on any of my crew before. And shouldn’t it be Pirate _Queen_ , in your case?”

“Oh, yeah, we haven’t got to that movie yet,” Henry says, confirming Killian’s thought, “It’s on the list, though. Hey, mom, can we watch it tonight? Killian’s already seen the first two.”

Emma’s still got her hand against his lower back. He can feel the warmth from it now, somehow creeping through his clothing, through the layers of leather and cloth to settle against his skin. She glances up at him searchingly, checking his wellbeing, ensuring he’s okay with Henry’s plan before she agrees. Sometimes he’s too on edge by the end of the day to sit still, or too drained from fighting his own mind. But Killian can’t imagine a better ending to this perfect day than curled up on the couch with his family, making fun of a probably silly movie about make-believe pirates, and he gives a barely perceptible nod.

“Okay,” Emma says with a smile, “Movie night it is.”

Her hand slips back into Killian’s as they walk back to her vessel – her _car_ , Killian mentally corrects himself. And he thinks for probably the hundredth time today that he’s so bloody _fortunate_ to have found such a place in the world, so surrounded by love and support.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, my first multi-chapter fic is complete! I hope this ending is satisfying to you, some light and fluffy stuff to leave you feeling good after the angst and misery of earlier chapters lol
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support and your kind comments - every one of them brings a smile to my face. And I still cannot believe this story got over 100 kudos before I even posted this final chapter.


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